Hidden Truths
by loulouflowerpower
Summary: Sherlock/OC-Moriarty's final game is not yet over, but while Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson work to try and uncover his final puzzle, life as they know it changes. A sudden death causes a rift between old friends and buried secrets are forced to light. Can they work to overcome it? Or is this truly the end?
1. Chapter 1 The Six Thatchers, Part 1

_**The Six Thatchers, Part 1**_

To say that Amelia was tired would be an understatement, her eyes felt as though she had sand in them, her eye makeup long since washed away after she had made the mistake of accidently reaching up to rub her eyes, resulting in smearing it on her hands and around her eyes. It had been beyond repair by then, so she had used tissues from her handbag in the hospital bathroom to try and clean up her face as best as possible. Needless to say, it hadn't been overly successful, but at least she didn't look like a crying clown any longer, just a completely drained, exhausted woman who hadn't slept properly in over a week and was trying to keep herself together while her boyfriend moaned and complained that he was perfectly fit after almost dying from a drug overdose. She supposed that when she considered everything that she had endured over the past few hours, let alone the past week since said boyfriend murdered someone in front of her and then ended up exiled to certain death, ruined makeup was the least of her concerns right now.

She yawned into her palm as she sat sideways in the armchair Sherlock usually favoured in the living room of Baker Street, her nose still stinging with the lingering scent of hospital that seemed to have clung itself to her clothing and hair, her legs curled beneath her, still dressed in the same black dress that she had worn to the airport to see Sherlock off earlier that day. She felt as though she could sleep for a month quite happily, her emotions utterly drained to the point that she couldn't even seem to bring herself to feel annoyed by Sherlock's constant pacing up and down the living room, his face screwed up with annoyance. He was still sulking over the fact that Mycroft had practically threatened to send him back to a prison cell unless he kept his head down for the next couple of days, just until he had officially managed to secure his little brother's pardon. Until then, Sherlock was technically still a criminal and therefore under house arrest, something that hadn't gone down well with the curly haired detective.

It also didn't help matters that Sherlock was still coming down from his high. The withdrawal symptoms had hit him shortly after they had left the airport and John, with Amelia's help, had managed to force Sherlock to go to hospital and get seen to properly by a doctor. He had been seen rather quickly and checked over, before being declared, shockingly; to be fit and healthy after coming so close to almost dying, save for the withdrawal symptoms. Shaking hands, mild confusion, hot and cold chills…he had been given something to calm him down and to help with nausea, but despite all of their attempts to try and make him stay in overnight, Sherlock refused to listen and insisted that he return to Baker Street. And so…here they were, Sherlock pacing and Amelia watching from her sleep deprived stupor.

"This is ridiculous," Sherlock growled as he paced furiously, running an aggressive hand through his hair, glaring angrily at the closed curtains over the darkened window, "I am _fine_! We have a case, Moriarty has something planned and we're wasting time…!"

"Mycroft said it will only take a couple of days, Sherlock," Amelia sighed warily, struggling against the urge to close her eyes and let her head drop onto the armrest of the chair, her coat draped over her legs like a blanket, "Once you've calmed down slightly…" she cast him a quick, assessing look at that, eyeing how aggressively every move he made seemed to be, "…I'm sure you'll get your pardon and we can start working the case properly, until then…"

"I am calm, Amelia, I am _perfectly_ calm! How am I _not_ calm?"

She lifted her head slightly to meet his eyes as he stopped next to her chair, glaring down at her, though it was clear that he wasn't upset with her, exactly, "I don't think you want me to answer that," she told him lightly, making him narrow his eyes even more. She sighed and forced herself to sit up, running a hand through her loosened hair, "Look, can you just sit down and lower your voice a bit? I feel like I'm on the verge of getting a migraine and your pacing is _not _helping. _God_…" she groaned, covering her face with her hands, "Why didn't I take up John's offer to stick around?"

Silence filled the room, broken by the distant noise of an ambulance siren squealing from somewhere in the distance streets of London. It had to be getting on to 3AM by now. Amelia swallowed down the urge to break down into tears as she breathed heavily into her hands, the back of her throat burning and her eyes stinging from sheer exhaustion, while her brain felt foggy and disconnected to the rest of the world. She didn't want to cry, she_ hated_ crying, but right now she felt as though she could do nothing but cry when everything felt so overwhelming right now. She just couldn't seem to get control over herself. Cool hands suddenly touched her wrists and she flinched at the touch, her head snapping up, but at the sight of Sherlock eyeing her with an almost guilty expression, kneeling on the floor before her, she felt herself relax slightly.

"Amelia," he said softly, his long fingers circling her wrists, gently easing them away from her face, "Go to bed, you need to sleep".

"I can't. You literally just relapsed after six years of sobriety, Sherlock, how do I know you're not going to go running off into the streets the second I close my eyes and get high again?"

"I'm not going to do that," he rolled his eyes at her, as though she was being an idiot for even thinking that. If Amelia hadn't been fighting the urge to cry already, she would have glared at him, "I've got a case".

Amelia scoffed, "I'm pretty sure addiction doesn't work that way," she said, her voice sounding higher than normal and, much to her own horror, tears slipped down her cheek. No! She wouldn't cry, she would not cry….She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her tears to dry up, "This isn't fair," she breathed weakly, "I feel like I'm losing my mind right now and you're so…so…_you_!"

"Amelia," he said again, this time firm enough to make her open her watering eyes, finding him watching her with a oddly concerned, tender expression that was so rare to see on his face. He even reached up to cup her cheek, "Don't be absurd, you're not losing your mind, you're just sleep deprived and stressed. You need to sleep…"

"No...!"

"…and calm down," he went on over the top of her, his expression unchanged, "I'm…sorry," he sighed, looking briefly pained by even saying the word, lowering his gaze from hers down onto her curled keens, "Everything that happened today…" he paused, while she waited patiently, knowing that he was trying to bring himself to say something that he wasn't comfortable with saying aloud, but something he felt he needed to say. He inhaled slowly through his nose and looked back up into her face, his thumb lightly running across her cheekbone, "I'm sorry you had to see me like that".

Amelia swallowed, hard, thinking back to his glassy eyes and muttering about having to go back and solve some crime in 1895, "Yeah," she said softly, "So am I. It was…worse then I imagined".

Sherlock eyed her carefully for a second longer, before he dropped his hand from her cheek and rose, but he didn't walk away, he hesitated before bending down and placing a tender, sweet kiss to the top of her head. Amelia blinked and lifted her head to look up to him in surprise, but he had already turned away from her, walking around her chair and across to the left-hand window, peeling the curtain back to peer down into the street, his face carefully turned away from her so that she couldn't read his expression. At his side, she noticed his left hand shaking slightly before he clenched it.

"I meant it, you know," his voice drifted quietly through the room, still carefully turned away from her, "What I said before I got on the plane".

"I know, William," she smiled very slightly, using his proper first name, feeling as though it suited him best in this moment. Sherlock Holmes was who the world knew, the man with the ingenious brain and skill of deduction, the man seemingly incapable of understanding even basic human emotion, but William Sherlock Scott Holmes was all of that and more, more that he seemed to only ever show to her when they were alone, capable of being sweet and tender, soft and comforting.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting slightly so that he could glance over his shoulder to her, "Don't expect me to say it again," he warned her, giving her a glare that held little emotion behind it. It was more like a mask he used to try and hide his vulnerability, "Regardless of what I might have said, I am not a sentimentalist, Amelia".

Amelia laughed slightly at that, shifting slightly in her chair so she could see him properly without having to twist her neck, "I would be rather disappointed if you were," she told him with a fond smile, knowing it was true. It was who he was, just because he might have expressed to her that he loved her, it didn't suddenly turn him into a romantic. Something else occurred to her and she sat up straighter, eyeing him closely, "Earlier, back on the plane when you first landed, you said that you were in your Mind Palace trying to solve the Ricoletti case from 1895. You kept saying that you had to get back".

Sherlock turned around from the window, frowning very slightly as he looked distractedly over towards the unlit fireplace, "It was just a dream," he said absently.

"You didn't think it was. Tell me about it".

His eyes snapped over to her, narrowed slightly, "Why?"

"Because it was so real to you at the time".

He was silent for a long moment, regarding her carefully, before he sighed and moved across the room to settle himself in John's old chair. He looked slightly odd sitting in it, somehow to big and tall to fit into it properly, but he didn't seem to care overly much as he looked back across to her, resting his arms on the slightly frayed armrests.

"It was…real, for a while," he agreed, frowning again, "Everything was same as it was here, but…different, Victorian. You were all there, you and John, Mary, Mycroft…even Lestrade…"

Amelia lifted an eyebrow, feeling slightly more awake now, "I swear, Holmes, if you made me into your maid or something…" she began warningly, pointing a painted red fingernail at him.

"We were married, Amelia," he cut across her, rolling his eyes at her. She blinked at that, looking taken aback as she dropped her hand back onto her lap, "And…" he hesitated, before sighing, "We had children".

"_Children_?" she practically gaped at him, her eyes widening in shock.

"Twins, actually," he suddenly narrowed his eyes on her, "Don't read too much into it, Amelia. I was high".

"Sherlock, you dreamed that we were married and had kids, twins, in fact, how am I supposed to read that?"

Sherlock sighed in exasperation and closed his eyes, "And this is why I never intended to tell you," he muttered, opening his eyes to fix her with an annoyed look, "Amelia, it was a dream induced by the drugs and my own subconscious. Forget about it".

Amelia didn't say anything at first, attempting to wrap her head around the idea that Sherlock had actually dreamed about her and him being together, married and with…twins. How was she supposed to not read something more into that, especially when he admitted himself that it was a part of his own subconscious? But even she could acknowledge that now was not the time to be discussing kids, though she suspected that Sherlock wouldn't be completely opposed to the idea if she did bring it up to him, there surely had to be a part of him that considered fatherhood if he had dreamed about being a dad. She licked her lips, pushing aside the urge to try and ask more questions about what their marriage was like in his dream, where they happy? How long had they been together in the dream? Was she even still a detective? She supposed that she mustn't be, given the era.

"What were their names?" she asked, unable to resist against the urge to ask, curious to hear more about how he might have pictured a life and family with her, even if it was in the Victorian age.

He looked rather reluctant at first, "William and Agatha".

She nodded slowly, considering the names with interest, Agatha had certainly never been her pick for a girl name, she preferred Scarlet or Josephine, after her mother, but she could understand why Sherlock would have picked the name, given her love for Agatha Christie's novels, and as for William…well, he knew that it was her favourite boys name, it was just lucky that he happened to share it. She wanted to ask more questions, what did they look like? How old were they? Did he like being a father? But she thought better of asking, he hadn't seemed very keen on even telling her their names, let alone going into detail. And it wasn't as if they were real.

"I don't blame you, for wanting to escape from reality," she found herself saying softly, swallowing hard as she dropped her gaze onto her lap, her fingers toying with the button on her coat draped over her, "I don't approve of what you did," she added sharply, lifting her gaze back up to him, any hint of the fatigue she felt overcome by her anger at the memory, "I never, _ever_ want to see you like that again and I know that it probably will happen again, you're an addict, it happens. But I hate it; it broke my heart seeing you like that".

Sherlock didn't say anything, watching her, but she did notice that he swallowed hard at her words, his expression softening slightly. Guilt? Regret? Both perhaps, as well as a number of other emotions she was currently too tired to try and read.

"I don't want you to make promises to me you can't be expected to keep, but I do want you to understand just how much your sobriety means to me, Sherlock. To me, and everyone else who loves you, because you have so many people who only want the best for you," she reached across their chairs and covered his hand as it rested on his armrest, his hand trembling very slightly beneath hers, "You're not alone, Sherlock. You are _never _alone, okay?"

He stared back at her, before he lowered his gaze, looking oddly touched and almost emotional by her words. Amelia could understand that, she didn't expect he had ever had someone actually look him in the eye and tell him, directly to his face, that he mattered so much. He had spent so much of his life alone, partly due to his own choice, but also largely due to the fact that no one had ever understood him, and then John and Amelia came into his life. The first two people, outside of his own family, who showed him even a hint of friendship and acceptance, something that even Sherlock Holmes couldn't deny that he needed.

Sherlock cleared his throat after a long moment, regarding her closely, suddenly looking like himself again, "You need to sleep, Amelia," he told her again, his voice softer, gentle, "Sleep deprivation obviously makes you even more absurdly sentimental then normal".

Amelia sighed at that, rolling _her_ eyes this time, "And I told you, I can't sleep knowing you could…"

"So we go to bed together," he cut across her, sounding almost impatient, rising from his seat. He held his hand out to her, waiting, "It's very obvious that I'm not going to be getting any work done tonight, thanks to Mycroft, and you are going to make yourself sick. Besides, you're rubbish company if you can barely keep your eyes open".

"Charming, Sherlock," she shot him a dark look, which was interrupted by the sudden need to yawn. She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes watering as she opened them again, "How do I know you won't just sneak out once I'm asleep?" she eyed him closely, dropping her hand back into her lap.

He met her eyes firmly, looking completely sincere, "I promise I won't".

"And I'm supposed to just simply trust that? I'm not a child, nor am I naïve. An addict will say _anything_; do _anything_, to get their fix".

"We could always handcuff ourselves to each other".

"Okay, I am way too tired right now to be able to tell if that is your serious idea to a solution right now".

"Amelia," he sighed, "Trust me. Please".

Amelia looked at him closely, struggling against the overwhelming desire to just simply go along with it so that she could sink into the bed she shared with Sherlock, lack of sleep now starting to make her eyesight blurred and she desperately just wanted to take her contacts out. She tried to focus on his body language, his hand still stretched towards her for her to take, his expression open and sincere, with a hint of inpatients. Of course, Sherlock was also a fantastic actor when needed, but she was beyond tired…even if it was just a trick for him to sneak out and get high again, how much longer would it be before she ended up passing out anyway? In the end, she reached up and took his hand, allowing him to help pull her up from the chair, her coat pooling onto the floor. If he did end up sneaking out, at least she tried to stop him.

…

Mycroft seemed to be able to work miracles, though Amelia would certainly never say such a thing out loud, who knew when he might be listening in and she certainly had little desire to stroke his ego. But she was grateful, because only the day after Sherlock was supposed to be sent to his exile, did Mycroft send them a message informing them that he had secured a meeting for Sherlock to discuss his pardon, his phone call waking her from her dead sleep. She was rather surprised to find Sherlock fast asleep beside her, obviously having spent the entire night in bed with her; in fact she was almost positive he had barely moved. She even had to check that he was breathing, given the fact that he had almost died only a few hours before hand, she thought it was a natural concern to have.

Thankfully, Sherlock was still very much alive, if slightly green now that the medication that he had been given the previous night at the hospital had worn off. Amelia sent him off into the bathroom with a slightly concerned look, before going into the kitchen to make herself a very large, very strong coffee, wrapped up in her royal blue dressing gown. The rest of the morning passed rather quickly, John stopped by to check up on Sherlock and tried to lecture him about behaving himself during his meeting later that day, while Amelia shook her head silently to herself as she pinned her hair up in a neat bun at the base of her neck in the bathroom, John's voice travelling easily as he scolded Sherlock for a seventh flippant comment. Personally, she thought John was wasting his time; Sherlock would always act like Sherlock.

She paused to consider herself in the mirror, she still looked more tired than she wished and slightly drained, but she was rather good at concealing dark circles with makeup after all these years, her lips painted a deep red and her eyes outlined with black kohl, trying to distract from the pallor of her skin. She smoothed her hand down her green, yellow, black, and white tartan skirt that came two inches above her knees, and straightened the plain black, short sleeved jumper she had tucked into the skirt. An emerald and gold necklace stood out clearly against the black of her top, while matching studs were in her ears, while she wore a pair of chunky heeled Mary Janes on her feet. She had gone through several different outfit ideas, she had even asked John and Sherlock to help, which was obviously a waste of time since they had simply looked at her as though she had asked them to fly to the moon and back again. In the end, she'd sent a group text to Mary and Molly asking them which looked better for a top secret meeting before the British Government…er, not quite with those words, since it was supposed to be secret.

By the time ten o'clock had arrived, Amelia and Sherlock made their way downstairs to find a black, shinny town car waiting for them outside the front door. Amelia pulled her black trench coat tighter around her as a cold gust of wind came up, her dark red handbag clasped in her hand as she slid into the backseat of the car, Sherlock sliding in behind her, slamming the door shut. The car drove on towards the Cabinet Office of Whitehall, nothing but the sound of the car's engine thrumming through the air as they sat in silence. Soon enough, they were pulling up outside the large, white bricked building and being escorted inside, meeting with Mycroft within the foyer.

They were taken up stairs into a modern conference room, the walls covered in a light wood panelling and large windows, while a long desk was set up in the same coloured wood along the front of the room. Lady Smallwood and a second man were already seated behind the desk as the detectives and Mycroft entered the room, while a older, grey haired woman sat slightly off to the side of them with a notepad in her lap, watching them silently as Amelia was directed towards a plastic, rather uncomfortably looking, brown chair off to the side of the room. Sherlock was directed towards a second chair placed in the middle of the room, facing towards the desk. Amelia did as she was told, just pleased that she had actually been allowed to come along to the proceedings when in reality she had no reason to be there, save for the fact that she suspected that Mycroft thought she might hold some sway over controlling Sherlock. Obviously, he was gravely mistaken.

Amelia draped her coat over the back of the chair and sat her bag down on the floor, crossing her legs as she took her seat and cast her eyes quickly around the room, noting the projection machine that was set up just behind Sherlock's chair, aimed at the projection screen up on the wall behind the desk, while a second TV screen was set up on a stand opposite the desk, over Sherlock's head, providing two points of viewing. Mycroft remained standing close to Sherlock's chair, pulling a small remote control out of his pocket, pressing a button that dimmed the lights.

"What you're about to see is classified beyond top secret," he told the room, and Amelia sat up slightly straighter as he hit a second button.

She very nearly wished she hadn't been included in the meeting as the projection screens turned on, showing four different perspectives of what happened on the patio of Appledore, just before Sherlock shot Magnusseen. She swallowed hard at the footage, clenching her hands together tightly in her lap to try and stop herself from showing just how much she hated seeing it. It would be burned inside her mind for the rest of her life, she didn't need to see herself on film, standing on the patio beside Sherlock and John, her dark red skirt blowing in the gust of wind from the helicopter hovering in the sky above them, her features set into a pleading, desperate look as she looked at Sherlock in the footage. At the time, she hadn't known what he was about to do, but she had known that he had something in mind; she just hadn't imagined he was literally going to shoot someone.

"Is that clear?" Mycroft continued sternly, pulling her out of her thoughts as she forcibly looked away from the screen. She caught Sherlock's eye, surprised to find that he had been watching her, and he frowned vaguely before he looked away from her, down at his phone in his hands…Seriously, was he actually texting right _now_? Her phone vibrated in her coat pocket and she closed her eyes in exasperation, he wouldn't be texting_ her_ right now, so he must have been tweeting. Mycroft didn't seem to notice, however, looking sharply over towards the older woman sitting off to the side of the desk as she went to put her glasses on, "Don't minute any of this," he instructed her, and she slowly lowered her glasses back down, folding her hands in her lap, "Once beyond these walls, you must never speak of it," he looked across to Lady Smallwood and the second man, "A D-notice has been slapped on the entire incident. Only those within this room, code names Antarctica, Langdale, Porlock, and Love, will ever know the whole truth…"

Amelia bit her lip, glaring at the side of Sherlock's head as Mycroft spoke, wishing she could telepathically tell him to knock it off and actually take this whole thing a little more seriously, his fingers tapping away rapidly on his phone, emitting soft clicking noises that seemed impossible to go unnoticed for the length of the entire meeting. Honestly, this was about his freedom right now and he was frigging tweeting? He hated Twitter, he once spent an entire afternoon lecturing herself and John about how self-absorbed social media was and that it was, in his mind, one of the leading causes for why so many people were turning into utter brainless morons…his words. And now he was tweeting, in the middle of one of the most important meetings of his entire life? God, she just wanted to walk over to him and smack him over the head with her handbag right now.

"…As far as everyone else is concerned," Mycroft was still speaking, totally oblivious to Amelia's murderous glare aimed towards his little brother, "Going to the Prime Minister and way beyond, Charles Augustus…Are you _tweeting_?" he suddenly exclaimed and turned to glare down at Sherlock, finally noticing the tapping.

Sherlock's head snapped up and he almost guilty covered his phone, "No," he said hastily, even though the sound of him sending off a tweet actually emitted from his phone.

"For God's sake…" Amelia breathed, closing her eyes tightly, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She could feel that migraine threatening again. How was it that this,_ this _man, the man currently attempting to hide his phone in his own coat and looking as guilty as a six year old caught sneaking biscuits, was her boyfriend? For goodness sake, she could have had her pick of men, she could have dated professional football players, bankers, neurosurgeons…and here she was, dating Sherlock Holmes, the man who couldn't even stop himself from tweeting during a meeting that would save his life.

"Well, that's what it looks like," Mycroft snapped at his little brother, staring at him in disbelief.

"Of course I'm not tweeting," Sherlock tried to shrug it off, giving a slightly breathless little laugh, like he found the idea absurd, "Why would I be tweeting?"

"Give me that," he huffed, suddenly lunging towards Sherlock and grabbing for the phone.

"What?" his eyes widened, "No!" he wrestled against Mycroft's attempts to snatch the phone out of his hand, clutching onto the slim, black device with both hands, "Get off! What are you doing?"

Amelia watched them, looking utterly resigned to the fact that this…_this_ was how her life was going to be until she died, watching Sherlock and Mycroft fighting over a phone, "I…don't even know what to say," she said tiredly, shaking her head slowly, making no move to get up and try to help, "I should have stayed in bed".

"Get off!" Sherlock grunted, his face screwed up as he tried tugging the phone back to him, "What…? Amelia!" he looked across to her, almost making her cringe as she felt the others within the room glance at her, too, "Mind helping?"

"Oh, you are s_o_ on your own for this one," she told him, giving him a sarcastic little smile. There was no way she was getting herself involved in that mess, better to just let the Holmes boys deal with their own drama. After all, she wasn't a Holmes; she could avoid the family drama if she choose to.

"Give it here, Sherlock," Mycroft said sternly, just before he finally managed to wretch the phone out of Sherlock's grasp, having been distracted by attempting to call for Amelia's aid. He looked down at the screen and his eyebrows rose as Sherlock sighed loudly, looking sulky, "'Back on terra firma,'" he read aloud, using his finger to scrawl.

Sherlock closed his eyes in exasperation, "Don't read them out," he groaned, looking almost pained.

"'Free as a bird'".

"God," he complained, opening his eyes and resting his elbow on the armrest of his chair, rolling his eyes. He looked like a sulky teenager, "You're such a spoilsport. Even Amelia found it funny…"

Amelia cleared her throat and shifted slightly as Mycroft shot her a quick look, "I did not…" she trailed off as Sherlock looked at her pointedly, sighing as she looked away from them, "Okay, so maybe seeing you two squabbling over a phone was kind of amusing…but you _really _shouldn't have been tweeting, Sherlock," she fixed him with a stern look, though she knew she had already wasted her chance of having the slightest hint of impact upon him now.

Mycroft gave her a dark look, as though she had disappointed him gravely, before turning to look angrily at his brother, "Will you take this matter seriously, Sherlock?"

"I _am_ taking it seriously," Sherlock replied quickly, giving him an annoyed look, "What makes you think I'm not taking it seriously?"

He lifted the phone back up and looked at the screen, "'Hashtage OhWhatABeautifulMorning,'" he read aloud with a sarcastic hint to his tone, mockingly wobbling his head slightly as he turned to glare back at his brother.

Amelia couldn't help laughing faintly, though she tried hard to disguise it as a cough at the sharp look Mycroft sent her, while Sherlock actually smirked smugly. God, she really wasn't helping here, was she? Yeah, she so should have stayed in bed, less chance of her being accused of actually encouraging Sherlock and his antics, which she wasn't…not intentionally, anyway. She couldn't help it if she found him amusing. She wasn't just dating him for his brains and fantastic cheekbones.

"Look," Sherlock turned back towards his brother, looking quite indignant, "Not so long ago I was on a mission that meant certain death, _my _death, and now I'm back with _my girlfriend_…" he looked across to Amelia and actually winked at her, making her blink, startled by the rather uncharacteristic gesture, "In a nice warm office…" he waved his hand around the room, looking back up to Mycroft, "…with my big brother and…Are those ginger nuts?" he suddenly caught sight of a plate of biscuits sitting on the table, his eyes lighting up in delight.

"Oh, God," Mycroft sighed, rolling his eyes upwards. Amelia carefully ducked her head, trying to hide her smile.

Sherlock practically leaped out of his seat and even did a funny little skip on his way over towards the plate, smiling widely, "_Love _ginger nuts," he commented brightly, grabbing a whole handful of the biscuits from off the plate, "Amelia, look!" he called across the room to her, making her head snap up, finding him practically waving his handful of biscuits around for her to see, "Ginger nuts, your favourite".

"Sherlock…" Amelia said with a hint of wariness to her tone, trying to ignore him wiggling one of the biscuits towards her with a hopeful expression, making him look like an overgrown puppy.

Lady Smallwood, on the other hand, was eyeing Sherlock with a frown, "Our doctor said you were clean," she said, clearly far from amused by his behaviour.

"I am, utterly," he told her calmly, not even bothering to so much as glance at her as he strolled across to Amelia, who really, _really_ wished he would just sit down, smiling embarrassedly when he grabbed her hand and pressed two biscuits into it. He even delicately curled her fingers around them, his touch lingering longer then necessary as he gave her something close to a cheeky smile, before he straightened and whirled back around, moving back towards his chair, "No need for stimulants now, remember?" he looked pointedly at Mycroft, lifting a biscuit up to his lips, "Amelia and I have work to do," he took a loud bit of the biscuit, chewing nosily, knowing it would only annoy him more.

"You're high as a kit!" a second man, sitting beside Lady Smallwood, suddenly exclaimed, staring at Sherlock.

"Natural high, I assure you," he turned towards the man, still chewing his mouthful, holding the rest of his biscuit in his left hand as he waved it around, "_Totally_ natural. I'm just…" he suddenly held out both his arms and sang loudly and dramatically, "…glad to be alive!"

Amelia burst out laughing, almost dropping her biscuits in her lap, incredibly grateful she hadn't been eating at the time. Sherlock grinned and dropped his hands back to his side, though he kept his hand holding his biscuit up close to his face, throwing Amelia a smug grin as she desperately tried to regain her composer. She could practically feel Lady Smallwood and the other man judgment from across the room, both of them looking between the two detectives as though they couldn't tell if they were both insane or just Sherlock. She suspected they were leaning towards both of them being insane, after all, only someone as equally as mental could possibly put up with dating someone like Sherlock.

"What shall we do next, Amelia?" he raised an eyebrow at Amelia, waiting as he took a large bite from his biscuit.

Amelia winced very slightly as Mycroft looked sharply at her, giving her a look that practically assured her that _she_ would end up being exiled from the country unless she thought very carefully about her next words. As much as Mycroft didn't scare her, she wasn't so foolish as to think that he couldn't make her life rather unpleasant if he felt like it. She could almost see the thoughts buzzing around his head of what small, seemingly insignificant annoyances he could manipulate in order to get back at her.

"Um…how about you sit down and behave?" she suggested, turning back to Sherlock with a slightly nervous, strained smile. She wasn't about to test Mycroft's imagination any time soon.

"Boring!" he declared from around his mouthful of biscuit, chewing loudly, when he suddenly paused and pointed across the room, "What's your name?"

The older woman sitting off to the side of the desk blinked slightly in surprise, toying with her hands in her lap, "Vi-Vivian," she replied, slightly nervously as everyone looked at her, too. Amelia deduced easily enough that she wasn't used to being addressed, and certainly not before her superiors, but then again, most secretaries were expected to just sit in the background and take notes.

"What would_ you_ do, Vivian?"

Her eyes widened slightly, "Pardon?"

"Well, it's a lovely day," he shrugged lightly, his eyes very bright and oddly excited, "Go for a stroll?" he said, making Lady Smallwood narrow her eyes at him, slowly shaking her head disbelief at what she was hearing, while the man beside her reached up to cover his face with his hand, "Make a paper aeroplane? Have an ice lolly?" he took another bite from his biscuit, completely unconcerned by the reactions of others within the room, including Amelia, who couldn't seem to decide if she felt embarrassed or amused.

"Ice lolly, I suppose".

"Ice lolly it is!" Sherlock almost cheered, gesturing dramatically towards her with both hands. As much as Amelia might have felt conflicted about Sherlock's behaviour, she did have to admit, she loved it when he got this excited, he was just so animated. It was a lovely change from his usual attempt to come off seeming completely emotionless and cold. He dropped his hands back to his side, eyeing the older woman curiously, "What's your favourite?"

Vivian hesitated, glancing warily at her beyond exasperated superiors, "Well, really, I shouldn't…" she began.

He waved a dismissive hand towards the others, "Go on," he told her encouragingly.

She fiddled with the pen in her fingers, looking slightly hopeful, "Do they still do Mivvis?" she asked.

"Mr Holmes," Lady Smallwood finally cut in sternly, looking utterly done with listening to Sherlock's nonsense for any longer. Personally, Amelia was rather impressed she had held her tongue for so long.

"Yes?" Sherlock and Mycroft said in unison, looking across the room to her. Mycroft seemed to realise what they had both said, glancing at his little brother with a small grimace, before shaking his head in annoyance as he glanced down at the floor.

She fixed Sherlock with a very serious, sharp look, before looking at Mycroft, "We do need to get on," she reminded him.

Mycroft lifted his head and nodded, "Yes, of course," he agreed, throwing Amelia a quick look.

She sighed, "Sherlock," she called, catching his attention, still happily chewing his biscuit away. She hadn't so much as taken a nibble from her own, "Please, sit down. It would be rather embarrassing for all of us if I am forced to make you," her tone didn't change in the slightest, though she gave him a sweet smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Sherlock scoffed at that, "And you plan to do that_ how_?"

Her smile didn't waver, but her eyes did grow a touch colder, "Don't test me, Sherlock," she warned him, her voice light and pleasant, but with a steely edge, "Not today, not after everything I've been through the past week. Don't think I won't remind you that I am a Moriarty by blood".

He looked far from concerned by her threat, one eyebrow still arched and something close to amusement in his eyes, though he wasn't fool enough to actually try pushing her, seeing how honest she was being. Amelia was not to be tested right now, while she might have recovered somewhat from her almost emotional breakdown the night before after finally managing to get some sleep, she still felt like she was standing on the edge of snapping if pushed too far, and as amusing as Sherlock had been, she also knew that this meeting was a huge deciding factor in his future, in _their _future. She wasn't just about to let him completely destroy that by him acting like a child.

Sherlock sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, more in a show of attempting to act as though he wasn't actually doing what his_ girlfriend_ had practically commanded him to do, and moved to sit down once more, before he paused. He grabbed his phone back from where Mycroft had placed it on top of the projection machine just behind his chair, mockingly waving it at his brother as he eyed him with a disproving frown. He slipped it back inside his inner breast pocket of his blazer as he dropped carelessly into his seat, crossing one leg over the other. Mycroft cast him one last look, before lifting the remote up towards the screen, restarting the video.

The sound of a helicopters blades swishing through the air filled the room, while the screen was filled with a view of the patio at Appledore from above. On the screen, Sherlock looked away from Amelia's pleading face, turning towards where Magnussen was standing two feet away from them, their clothing blowing in the breeze of the hovering helicopter above their heads.

"…_do your research_," Sherlock was saying on the video, while Amelia gripped her knees tightly, her fingernails almost digging into her flesh. She watched with a sickening feeling in her stomach as Sherlock on the video took a step away from John, having just slipped John's gun out of his pocket, unnoticed by the rest of them as he began to walk towards Magnussen, "_I'm not a hero…I'm a high-functioning sociopath_…"

The video suddenly switched from the camera on the helicopter, to the head cam on one of Mycroft's men as they neared the steps of the patio, just as Sherlock lifted his gun towards Magnusson's head. Amelia winced, expecting to hear her own scream to come over the video as she cried out for Sherlock to stop, but it didn't come, instead, on the video, Sherlock suddenly dropped the gun harmlessly onto the ground and she, on the video, lunged forward to grab his arm, just before a loud bang went off and Magnussen collapsed onto the floor, seemingly shot by someone else off screen, rather than Sherlock. Amelia blinked, startled as she stared at the screen, watching as Sherlock lifted his arms in surrender on the screen and she dropped her hold on him, stepping back, her expression partly obscured by the loose curls blowing across her face in the wind. But that hadn't been what had happened at all, far from it.

"I see," Sherlock said lightly as the video continued to play again and again, on a loop, "Who_ is_ supposed to have shot him, then?" he lifted his uneaten biscuit up to his mouth, taking a bite.

"Some over-eager squaddie with an itchy trigger finger, that's who," the man next to Lady Smallwood replied shortly, appearing to have quite enough of dealing with Sherlock Holmes for one day.

He continued to watch the video play on a loop, "That's not what happened at all," he remarked quietly, taking another bite of his biscuit. Amelia swallowed hard, forcing her fingers to relax over her knees, her skin marked with half-moon imprints.

"It is now," Mycroft told him firmly, staring at the screen with a grim expression.

Amelia closed her eyes, flinching as the sound of the gun going off sounded through the room for the fifth time in a row, "Please," she said in a forced voice, "Can we turn that off now? It was bad enough witnessing it the first time; I don't need it to be repeated over and over again during my waking hours, too".

Sherlock cast her a quick, almost concerned look, "Mycroft," he shot his brother a pointed glare, "I think you've proven your point".

Mycroft lifted his eyebrows in surprise, eyeing his brother with an almost knowing look as he glanced across the room to Amelia, who was refusing to look at the screen, her eyes fixed intently on her tartan skirt. It was almost…touching, how concerned his little brother was for Amelia's wellbeing, never before would he have imagined that Sherlock would be capable of feeling so…attached towards another person, as he clearly was with Mrs Wilson. Of course, it delighted their parents that at least one of their children had finally managed to find a romantic partner, and they themselves were really quite taken with Amelia, but it still surprised him somewhat by just how much Sherlock seemed to care for her. It wasn't just a relationship out of convenience or just merely affection, his brother actually admired Amelia. It was plain to see, he listened to her, even if he might not always do as she said or asked, he still listened, and that in itself was something new for Mycroft to witness in his little brother. Personally, he thought that Amelia Wilson could very well be either the best thing for Sherlock, or the very worst thing. He lifted the remote up to the screen and turned the video off; curiously casting a look between the detectives as Amelia almost seemed to sigh in relief, Sherlock watching her from afar with a frown on his features. Yes, this was proving to be rather interesting.

"Remarkable," Lady Smallwood commented, shaking her head lightly, "How did you do it?"

"We have some very talented people working here," the man to her left replied, looking rather pleased with himself as she glanced across to him, "If James Moriarty can hack every TV screen in the land, rest assured we have the tech to, er…doctor a bit of security footage," he gestured towards the dark screen, while Amelia resisted the urge to laugh as she noticed Sherlock throw a piece of his biscuit towards his open mouth, only to miss completely. He frowned to himself as he grabbed at the biscuit piece that had fallen down beside his chair, his eyes flickering across to catch hers as she smiled faintly. No one else in the room seemed to notice, listening to the man still speaking, "That is now the official version, the version anyone we want to will see".

Lady Smallwood nodded, turning to look back across to Sherlock, who popped the biscuit into his mouth as though nothing had happened, "No need to go to the trouble of getting some sort of official pardon," she said, eyeing him closely, "You're off the hook, Mr Holmes. You're home and dry".

"Okay," Sherlock nodded, perfectly calm and composed, toasting his biscuit towards her, "Cheers," he uncrossed his legs and rose from his chair, ignoring Mycroft's stern look as began buttoning his blazer around his middle, "Come along, Amelia. We should celebrate," he flashed her a cheeky smile, causing Amelia to raise an eyebrow in return at how curiously playful he was being, for him, as he reached for his coat draped over the back of his chair.

"Obviously…" Lady Smallwood cut in sharply, narrowing her eyes on him, "…there's unfinished business. Moriarty".

Amelia sighed at the mention of her dear brother, gracefully climbing to her feet, "I shouldn't concern yourself to greatly with my _darling_ brother, Lady Smallwood," she advised her, giving her a tight, sarcastic smile as she grabbed her own coat and handbag, "He's very much dead, after all".

She frowned, her eyes flickering between the detectives as Amelia slipped her coat on, "You say he filmed that video message before he died," she said with a hint of doubt in her tone.

Sherlock paused, one arm in his coat, "Yes," he answered from around his mouthful of biscuit.

"You also say you know what he's going to do next, Mr Holmes. What does that mean?"

"Perhaps that's all there is to it," the man remarked thoughtfully, glancing up to the detectives as he waved his finger between them, "Perhaps he was just trying to frighten you. It wouldn't be the first time, would it, Miss Wilson?" he focused his attention onto Amelia, his eyebrows raised.

Amelia frowned slightly, glancing at Sherlock, "My brother did love to spark a reaction out of people," she agreed, her gaze growing distant, thinking about her deranged twin, "And never more so then from _me_, but you are gravely mistaken if you think that James would have gone to _all_ this effort just to frighten either of us," she looked back up to the man and Lady Smallwood, her expression grim, "James had to have known that there was a chance he wouldn't survive that day, he was far too ready to simply kill himself otherwise, so why wouldn't he have planned in advance? He was clever and calculating, and he wanted nothing more than to see the world crumble and burn all around him, he wasn't just going to let _death_ ruin his fun. So…he set into motion one final game for us to play, should he indeed die, one final puzzle for us to solve".

She swallowed hard as she looked back across to Sherlock, knowing that she was right, because that was exactly how her brother's mind had worked. He hadn't feared death; James was too psychotic to fear something so trivial and ordinary as death, he had thrived on chaos and destruction, he had craved the rush that it had given him, craved the sense of power and control that being at the heart of it all had given him. And, at the end of the day, he had been desperately bored. He had gone after Sherlock because Sherlock had been the only person who could distract and challenge him, Amelia had proven early on in their lives that she wouldn't play her brother's twisted games, so he had moved on to someone else. Someone who _would_ play.

"We brought you back to deal with this, Mr Holmes," Lady Smallwood eyed Sherlock closely, her expression expectant, "What are you going to do?"

"Wait," Sherlock replied at once, as though it was that simple. Amelia didn't even blink, suspecting he would likely come up with that idea; it did make sense, after all.

"'_Wait_?'" she stared at him, startled.

"Of _course_ wait," he rolled his eyes, looking exasperated, "I'm the target. Targets wait. Look…" he sighed, looking between Lady Smallwood and the other man, who were watching him with matching puzzled expressions, "Whatever's coming, whatever he's got lined up, I'll know when it begins," he glanced across to Amelia and raised an eyebrow, holding the elbow in his coat sleeve out towards her, which she accepted, linking her left arm with his. He didn't spare the rest of the room so much as a glance as he turned and began to lead the way across the room, absently slipping his other arm through the sleeve of his coat, "I always know when the game is on," he continued, "D'you know why?"

"Why?" the older woman asked warily, sounding thoroughly through with dealing with Sherlock Holmes.

He paused as they reached the door, actually sending Amelia a little smirk before looking back across to Lady Smallwood, "Because I love it," he said, just before he pulled the door open and they slipped outside the conference room.

Amelia remained silent as they walked down the long, modern hallway back towards the lift, before a sigh crossed her lips, "Did you enjoy that little performance, Holmes?" she eyed his profile as he stepped forward slightly to hit the button to call the lift up to their level, just as they reached the closed metal doors, polished so greatly that their own, slightly distorted reflections looked back at them.

"Well, you seemed to find it amusing".

"Try embarrassed amusement. It was a bit like when you laugh at a funeral".

Sherlock tilted his head thoughtfully, his gaze on the small yellow light on the panel beside the lift, watching as it moved upwards, "I can't say I've ever laughed at a funeral".

"Nor have I, but if I found your antics amusing it was guilty amusement, I assure you".

"Hmm…" he hummed thoughtfully, smirking again as he glanced at her, "_Nope_," he popped the P, "You found it funny".

"I did not".

"Of _course _you did…"

"I so didn't, Sherlock!"

"Did…"

"Must you two continue to behave like children?" Mycroft cut across Sherlock's response, coming to stand on his brother's right-hand side with a scowl on his face.

Sherlock and Amelia paused, glancing at each other, "Yep," they said in unison, turning back to Mycroft, Amelia actually smirking slightly.

His mouth thinned and he fixed them both with a glare, far from impressed, "Miss Wilson…" he levelled Amelia with a sharp, disappointed look, "I had hoped that you would be able to keep my brother in check by allowing you to attend today's meeting…"

"Back to 'Miss Wilson' again, are we?" Amelia eyed him with a perfectly calm, unconcerned expression, her tone light, "And to think, it was less than a week ago that you actually welcomed me to the family".

"A possible momentarily lapse in judgment in my part," he replied, giving her one of his tight lipped smile, "I was being drugged at the time," his pale blue eyes moved to rest on Sherlock, narrowing pointedly.

Sherlock sighed loudly, rolling his eyes so hard Amelia actually wondered if it was painful, "Go away, Mycroft," he told him, just as the lift finally reached their level and slid open. He threw Mycroft a dark look as he and Amelia stepped into the lift, turning around to face his older brother still standing just outside the doors, "We have a case".

"Sherlock…"

"Don't worry, Mycroft," Amelia sighed tiredly, giving him an exasperated look, "We know what we're doing, and I'll make sure to keep a close eye on your baby brother".

She gave him a bright, overly happy smile and reached across to the side of the lift, pressing the 'Ground Floor' button. She couldn't resist the slightly sarcastic wiggle of her fingers at Mycroft as the doors closed on his frowning face. Sherlock was right, they had a case, they just might have to go about actually solving it in a slightly roundabout way.

_**Season four, it's official! And it only took me…what, six years to get to this point? Maybe more. But we're here that's what matters, I'm just desperately hoping that we'll get some news about if we will be getting season five or not soon, I positively hate the idea of this being the last season, but even if it is the end, we'll still see Amelia and Sherlock. Anyway, as always Amelia's outfit will be up on my Tumblr and Pinterest.**_

_**Next chapter, baby Watson comes into the world, Sherlock and Amelia might be scarred for life as a result of it, however, and Amelia is so done with Sherlock's nonsense. Tell me what you thought, I hope you guys liked it. Pease review :)**_


	2. Chapter 2 The Six Thatchers, Part 2

_**The Six Thatchers, Part 2**_

It was another week later, and Amelia found herself sitting in John's old armchair in the living room of Baker Street, letting the sound of John's fingers tapping away on the keys of his laptop wash over her, feeling strangely nostalgic to hear that familiar noise again as he wrote up his next blog entry. Ever since Sherlock was let off the hook, things had been pretty busy, almost the very same afternoon that they'd had the meeting, someone very high up at the Louvre in Paris actually reached out to them concerning the apparently missing Mona Lisa. Sherlock, however, found the case to be rather boring, far more interested in solving another case that involved a missing horseshoe that was somehow connected to a bright blue deck chair on Brighton beach. In the end, Amelia had taken on the missing masterpiece, leaving Sherlock and John to deal with their horseshoe case, though she suspected that John would have rather tagged along with her to Paris, instead Amelia had convinced Molly to join her. It was probably better that John stayed in London with Sherlock, anyway, someone needed to keep an eye on him after his so very recent relapse.

She couldn't help sighing as Sherlock suddenly re-entered the room from the landing with a rather large handful of letters, some already opened, in his hand, looking rather pleased with himself as he crossed the room to the fireplace, pulling his multi-tool knife out of his blazer pocket and literally stabbing the letters to the mantelpiece. She cringed at the sound of the knife piercing into the wood. God, she_ hated_ it when he did that.

"If this get's any better, I'm gonna get _two_ knives," he remarked happily, turning around from the mantelpiece.

"It pays to advertise," John said distractedly, still tapping away at his laptop.

Amelia fixed Sherlock with an exasperated look as he flopped down into his armchair, "Must you stab things into the mantle, Holmes?" she frowned at him, waving a hand over towards the pinned letters, "My God, if I was your land lady, I would kill you for the damage you've inflicted upon this flat".

"It's an occupational hazard, Amelia," Sherlock replied dismissively, crossing one leg over the other as he fished his phone out of his breast pocket of his blazer, focusing on the screen.

She rolled her eyes at that, it was practically his excuse for everything relating to the mess he made around the flat, like his miniature laboratory that he had set up on the kitchen table or the time when she came home from a day out with Molly to find him using the bathtub to determine how quickly one could dissolve a frozen pig carcass. Thankfully, however, she had managed to domesticate him somewhat, he washed the dishes without her needing to nag him about it anymore and he had even cooked her dinner…for the last and final time, ever. She still suspected he was actually trying to test something on her, though he denied it, but why else would he cook something for her? This was a man who seemed incapable of making his own tea.

"I'm going to buy you a cork board," she pointed at him sternly, her dark eyes narrowed. He rolled his eyes dramatically, not looking away from his phone, "And you _will_ use it, Sherlock, not the walls or the mantle, you've already put this place through enough".

"Yes, _dear_," he muttered sarcastically.

Amelia's eyes darkened and she grabbed the glossy copy of _Vogue Paris_ she had been reading earlier from the small table next to her chair, throwing it at him. He went to catch it, only to miss in his distracted state, resulting in the magazine slapping him directly in the chest with a thump. It was a rather thick edition this month, and he grunted at the impact, finally lifting his gaze from his phone to shoot her a disgruntled look.

"That's for using that tone with me, mister," she told him sharply, watching as he shoved the magazine onto the pile of books sitting on the floor by his chair. The front page was now slightly crumpled, but it had been worth it.

Mary turned away from the far window, one hand lightly pressed against her rather large stomach, while the other grabbed painfully at her lower back, "So…" she began, holding back a wince, "What about Moriarty, then?"

"Ooh, I have a plan," Sherlock said as he returned his attention onto his phone, his fingers tapping rapidly on the keys. Mary grimaced again, rubbing her baby bump, while Amelia watched her with a small smile, "I'm going to monitor the underworld, every quiver of the web will tell me when the spider makes his move".

Amelia pulled her eyes off Mary, throwing him an amused look, "As dramatic as ever," she smirked, just as he phone dinged, signalling another Twitter alert. She slipped her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans, shaking her head at the post Sherlock had just made on his feed: 'Hashtage 221Bringit!'

John frowned slightly, glancing across to Sherlock, "Basically your 'plan' is just to sit there solving crimes with Amelia, like you always do," he translated, nodding across to Amelia as he spoke.

Sherlock looked up from his phone and smiled, "Awesome, isn't it?" he said brightly, uncrossing his legs and jumping up from his chair, crossing across to the mantle and ripping the top letter off the pile pinned to the mantle.

….

Amelia tried very, _very_ hard not to allow her own annoyance to show on her face as she sat in Sherlock's usual chair with her jean clad legs crossed, watching out of the corner of her eye as Sherlock paced back and forth before the fireplace, tapping away at his phone, seemingly totally ignoring the middle aged, female client currently trying to talk to them about her case that she had written to them about, sitting on one of the dining chairs that had been turned to face the fireplace. John was sitting across from her with a bright yellow teacup in his hands, looking suitably sympathetic towards their clearly grieving client, though even he had spared Sherlock a quick look, while Mary sat perched on the armrest of his chair, listening intently.

"He drowned, Mr Holmes, Miss Wilson," the woman was telling them, and Amelia nodded, struggling to remain professional and not snap at Sherlock to put his _damn_ phone away, "That's what we _thought_, but when they opened up his lungs…"

"Yes?" Mary asked quickly, quite engrossed with the story.

"Sand".

Sherlock finally looked up from his phone, "Superficial," he said to the woman, who blinked, taken aback as he swiftly turned his attention back onto his phone as it whistled his text alert.

Amelia gave the woman a strained smile, "What Mr Holmes_ means_…" she shot him a pointed look at that, though he likely didn't even notice with his attention so fixated on his phone, "Is that we are very sorry to inform you that your husband did, indeed, drown," she turned back to the woman, giving her a apologetic look as the woman's eyes widened slightly, "It's not uncommon to find sand within the lungs of a drowning victim. Sand or dirt are disturbed at the bottom of the ocean or lake floor when the individual goes into the water, they thrash around, trying to get to the surface, and…" she trailed off as the woman gave a shuddering sob, quickly covering her mouth. She winced, "I truly am very sorry for your loss".

….

Sherlock was sitting in his usual chair, peering through a pair of Mars binoculars at a plastic zip-lock bag, filled with melting ice and a served thumb. Amelia was leaning over the back of his chair, eyeing the bag with a small grimace. Their latest client in the ever growing string of clients to come passing through their door the past two weeks had arrived on their doorstep, horribly pale and bleeding rather profusely from a truly terrible wound on his hand. Why he thought it would be a better idea to come to them, rather than a hospital, Amelia still didn't quite understand, having been forced to quickly run and grab the first aid kit that John had kept well stocked in the bathroom upon their client's arrival. It was rather unfortunate that John happened to be attending another doctor's appointment with Mary, meaning that he hadn't been around to play doctor.

"Come back!" Sherlock called suddenly, making Amelia jump slightly, quickly straightening and rubbing her left ear, "It's the wrong thumb!"

Amelia frowned as she looked across to the dining chair that had become 'the Client Chair,' only to find it quite empty, their client gone. She glanced at Sherlock as he lowered the binoculars and also seemed slightly puzzled, when the sound of the front door downstairs slamming shut sounded.

"Huh," Amelia absently tugged her dark green blouse straighter, eyeing the door, "He's really quite light on his feet for a badly bleeding; over-weight, fifty seven year old, isn't he?"

"We should very likely be going after him, Amelia".

She sighed and nodded, moving to grab her coat, while he leaped up from his seat. She probably should have gone with those flats this morning.

…

It was evening, less than three weeks since Sherlock's almost exile, and Amelia had her arms crossed over her chest, peering down at the table littered with photographs of a dark haired, mid-thirty year old man. The pictures had obviously been taken without the man's knowledge while he walked down a footpath, stepped outside of a brick house, or crossed a street. Their latest client had approached them with concerns about the very man featured in the photographs they were currently pouring over, apparently she had been dating him for the past five months, when he had suddenly been murdered just before Christmas, even though there was proof that at the same time as the man's death, the exact same man had been attending his office Christmas party. There had been an entire room of witnesses who knew him and had seen him at the party, but yet, the very same man had supposedly been murdered at the same time, in another part of London.

"Sherlock…" John began, standing next to Amelia, looking over the evidence scattered across the table, "Amelia…"

"It's never twins," Sherlock cut across him sternly, busy rapidly typing something into his phone as he stood at the end of the table. John glanced across to him, looking slightly taken aback by how quickly he had responded.

"_Well_…" Amelia dragged out the word slightly, drawing both men's attention to her, Sherlock lifting an eyebrow and John curious, "Sometimes it is twins," she said lightly, before shrugging, "Just perhaps not in the same context as this. Plus, I never did keep the fact that I had a twin brother secret, did I?"

"Amelia," Sherlock fixed her with a firm look, speaking quickly, "Would you please confirm that it's never twins, regardless of your own personal history, so that John can move off the frankly absurd idea that Dennis Parkinson had a 'secret twin'".

John blinked, "I never said Parkinson had a secret twin…"

He looked across to him briefly, rolling his eyes, "You considered it".

Amelia sighed, reaching up to rub her forehead briefly, "Why do I feel like you've had this conversation before, Sherlock?" she eyed him curiously, "You seem rather determined to move off the subject, like you think John might actually think having a secret twin is a real thing".

Sherlock didn't have a response to that, apparently, his eyes lingering on her, as though considering saying something, before he quickly returned his attention back onto his phone. He might have told Amelia bits and pieces about his Victorian drug induced dream, but he wasn't quite ready to go into explaining how fixated Victorian Watson had been about a possible secret twin. For one thing, both John and Amelia would probably find it hilarious that his own mind had come up with the idea, and secondly, any mention of what happened last month typically resulted in only upsetting his two closest and dearest friends. He did not have time to be dealing with that tonight.

….

Sherlock was an impressive man; Amelia had always thought that about him, even when she had tried so desperately to distance herself from him during those first few months when she feared he might deduce that her brother was a criminal. But even she didn't think he was capable of solving two completely separate cases at once, but yet here he was, sitting in his armchair one evening five week after his almost exile, his face lit up from the light of his laptop sitting on his knees, though he was busy rapidly typing on his phone. Mary had joined them twenty minutes ago, looking larger than ever as she very rapidly approached her due date, sitting in John's chair with a cup of tea in one hand, while the other rested on her protruding stomach. John was standing by the fireplaces, eyeing Sherlock with a slight frown, his arms crossed over his chest. Amelia shook her head, feeling strangely amused as she sat perched on the armrest of Sherlock's chair, her legs crossed and her feet bare, her heels sitting neatly on the floor next to the chair, looking at the laptop screen.

"Hopkins, arrest Wilson," Sherlock ordered over the Skype call he currently had set up on the screen, two separate windows opened, side by side, "Dimmock, look in the lymph nodes".

"Wilson?" Hopkins exclaimed, her dark eyes widening, appearing to be currently sitting in her office, judging by the background of her window.

"Lymph nodes?" Dimmock repeated loudly, looking puzzled as he seemed to be walking along a street with cars rushing past him. It had been surprisingly nice to actually work with Dimmock again, he was far more willing to actually listen to them now, and it had been nice to work with someone from those early months of Sherlock and Amelia's working together. Sherlock had scoffed, with fondness, and called her a sentimentalist again when she had remarked on it, but she liked it when he did that. He said it differently with her then he did with other people, almost tender.

"Sherlock…" Mary called, while Amelia sighed slightly.

"Yes," Sherlock said, finally looking up from his phone to focus on Dimmock's little window, "You may have nothing but a limbless torso, but there'll still be traces of ink left in the lymph nodes under the armpits. If your mystery corpse had tattoos, the sign'll be there".

Amelia nodded in agreement, though she quickly stopped and yawned behind her hand, blinking her watering eyes rapidly, too tired to even feel embarrassed. She hadn't had more than two hours sleep in the past twenty four hours since Sherlock had decided to take on both cases, hardly pausing to ask her how she felt about the idea of working on two cases at once. Granted, they had been relatively simple cases, but still, she didn't think she could keep this up for much longer. One case had involved a mysterious, badly decomposed, limbless body in the boot of a car, while the other had featured a man who was apparently a canary trainer, of all things.

"Blood hell!" Dimmock stared back at Sherlock through his camera, frowning deeply, "Is that a guess?"

"Oh, no, don't ask that," Amelia shook her head quickly, seeing Sherlock's eyes instantly narrow on the screen. She reached up to run her thumb under her left eye, trying to stop what little that was left her makeup from running down her face. She really hoped she didn't look like she was crying; her eyes were watering so badly she felt like it was an easy mistake to make. She yawned again behind her hand, "Deductive reasoning is…is an art form, not guess work," she managed to say through her yawning, her voice muffled slightly through her hand, just as Sherlock hit a button and ended Dimmock's call.

"Amelia, are you okay?" Mary asked worriedly, eyeing the positively exhausted woman sitting slightly slumped on the armrest. Her usually carefully arranged hair looked slightly croaked and strands of hair had escaped around her face, while her makeup had largely worn off. Amelia waved a dismissive hand in her direction, only making her frown even more, while John shot Sherlock a dark look, "Sherlock…" she tried again, this time sterner.

"So he's the killer?" Hopkins cut in, while Sherlock ignored Mary, going back to typing into his phone, "The canary trainer?"

"'_Course_ he's the killer," Sherlock rolled his eyes, throwing her a quick look.

"Didn't see _that _coming".

"Hmm, naturally," he hit the button again and closed her window, not pausing in the slightest as he went straight back to his phone.

Amelia sighed in relief, closing her eyes, "Oh, thank God that's over," she groaned, positively longing for bed right now. She had gone without sleep plenty of times without issue before, but she hadn't needed to work on two cases at once, plus she couldn't remember the last time that she and Sherlock actually had more than a day without a client or a case to work on since his almost exile five weeks ago. She needed a break, if not physically, then mentally.

John frowned deeply at Sherlock, his eyes lingering on Amelia with a concerned look, "Sherlock," he said sharply, turning his gaze onto his ex-flatmate, "You can't go on spinning plates like this, Amelia needs a break…"

"That's it!" Sherlock cried, his head snapping up suddenly and his mouth slipping open, "The place was spinning".

Amelia blinked slowly, glancing sideways at him, "I…don't even want to know," she shook her head, slipping off the armrest with a frown at him, "I'm going to bed now; I don't even care if the bloody Queen wants us for a case. You deal with it yourself, Sherlock. Night, Mary, John".

And with that, not even waiting to hear their response, she swiftly left the room and headed towards the kitchen, ready to curl up in bed, even if she doubted Sherlock would be joining her any time soon.

…

Amelia carefully examined the young man sitting in the dining chair before her, he looked completely relaxed and calm, and why shouldn't he? It's not like he could actually remember what had happened, having come to them seeking help for the murder of his own older brother, who he had unexpectedly found strangled to death in the bedsit they both shared. The police were stumped over the crime, though why, Amelia couldn't say. It seemed like a pretty obvious one to her, was it possible that Scotland Yard was actually getting_ slower_?

"You take heart medication, yes?" she lifted an eyebrow at the man, ignoring Sherlock as he wondered into the room from the kitchen, tapping away on his phone, as he always seemed to be these days. She had managed to get the damn thing away from him for a little while, though it was hardly an appropriate time to be trying to seduce him when they currently had a client sitting in their living room. She didn't wait for the man to answer, already knowing, "Are you also aware that one of the side effects of that form of medication happens to be amnesias?"

"Yes, um…I think so," the man said slowly, frowning slightly, confused, "Why?"

Sherlock flopped down into his armchair, not looking away from his phone, "Because the fingerprints on your brother's neck are you own," he informed him, typing away.

Amelia gave him an almost sympathetic look at the shocked, horrified look that crossed the man's face. Well, they'd all been there, hadn't they? The desire to strangle a sibling…apparently, their client just took it to the next level.

…

"A jellyfish?" John giggled as he, Amelia, and Sherlock made their way up the stairs of Baker Street towards the living room one evening six weeks after Sherlock's almost exile.

"It sounds absurd, but I promise, it's all true," Amelia grinned, laughing slightly along with him, one hand grasping the banister railing as they moved up the stairs, Sherlock following two steps below her. He was, as always, tapping away on his phone, he even took the damn thing into the shower with him, sealed in a waterproof bag.

"You can't arrest a jellyfish!"

"Well, you could try," Sherlock commented, smirking slightly to himself.

He threw him a look back over his shoulder, "We _did _try," he pointed out, just as he stepped up onto the landing.

"Not overly successfully, either," Amelia sighed mockingly, shaking her head as she smiled brightly. It had been a strangely refreshing case, given just how amusing the end result had been. She stepped up onto the landing beside John, reaching up to start undoing the golden buttons on her coat, just as John's phone alerted, "Still…" she continued lightly, turning towards Sherlock as he joined them, "You have to admit, it would have been amusing to see Lestrade's face when we handed him our murderer".

Sherlock's mouth twitched at that and he even lifted his gaze up from his phone long enough to catch her eye. Beside them, John pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the screen.

"Oh God," he breathed, staring at the screen, drawing their attention instantly across to him.

"Mary?" Sherlock asked quickly, eyeing the phone in John's hand, while Amelia quickly re-buttoned her coat, knowing what was coming next.

"Fifty nine missed calls".

Amelia winced, "We need to get to her," she said quickly, grabbing John's arm, "Come on!"

She turned and dragged John along behind her, managing to actually jog back down the stairs in her five inch heels, Sherlock hurrying along behind them.

….

It was just as Amelia had feared, Mary had gone into labour. They managed to get back to John and Mary's house to find poor Mary, grimacing in pain and clutching her stomach, snapping at John to hurry up and get her to a bloody hospital…Yeah, Amelia could so see her as the deadly assassin she once was right now, even while moaning and clutching the doorframe in agony, she half expected Mary to just snap John's neck when he fumbled with the car keys and dropped them in his hast to unlock the door. Thankfully, Mary did manage to get into the back seat of the car, Sherlock somehow ending up sitting next to her, while Amelia took the front passenger seat, John practically squealing the tires as he sped off down the road.

"Hurry up, John," Amelia called urgently, straining against her car seat as she looked behind her seat into the back, looking worriedly at Mary as the poor woman groaned in pain and clutched at her stomach, her face scrunched up painfully, her dress pulled up rather high, "I've got a feeling this baby's not waiting around!"

"Ow!" Mary cried out again, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, one hand gripping the roof above her head, "Oh my God," she breathed, before she lifted her other arm up to the roof, bracing herself against it, "Oh my God!"

"Blood hell," she murmured, her eyes wide as she stared at how much pain Mary was in, and it could easily be said that Mary had a high tolerance for pain, given her previous profession. Dear God, who the hell said that childbirth was a beautiful experience? This wasn't beautiful, this was hell and there hadn't even been any blood yet!

John glanced worriedly into the rear-view mirror to his wife, "Relax," he urged her, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, "It's got two syllables…"

"I'm a nurse, darling," Mary cut him off, gasping for breath through the pain; "I think I know what to do".

"So do it, Mary," Amelia encouraged her, her neck and shoulder starting to ache from the position she was forced to sit in in order to see Mary, but she ignored it, "Come on, just breath it out, relax…"

"Re…" Mary began, before she broke off with an agonised cry.

"…lax," John finished for her, pursing his lips as he mimicked breathing.

"No, please just drive!" she practically screamed, withering painfully in her seat, grabbing at practically everything in an attempt to find something to brace herself against the next contraction, the back of John's seat, the roof, the armrest on the door, "Please, God, just drive! God, drive!"

She broke off with her loudest scream yet and Amelia flinched, her eyes widening as she stared at Mary's screwed up face. Witnessing this was enough to make one never, ever give up birth control, in fact she was rather feeling as though she ought to send Sherlock to get the snip at this point…of course, the image of Mr and Mrs Holmes swam through her mind, and she knew she couldn't take away pretty much their only chance to possibly, one day, have a grandchild. Still, this was really, really making her reconsider any chance of giving birth herself. Speaking of Sherlock, who had remained utterly silent for far too long for her liking…She almost lunged through into the back seat as she caught sight of him sitting in the seat behind her, tapping away on his phone, totally ignoring Mary's screaming, withering form beside him.

"Sherlock!" Amelia snapped angrily, actually making him jump and look up, meeting her eyes with a startled expression, "For God's sake, Sherlock, how can you ignore Mary like that? She's literally about to give birth in front of us, and you're frigging texting!"

Sherlock sighed loudly, glancing across to Mary, "That's it, Mary…" he turned back to his phone, tapping away as Amelia stared at him in disbelief, "Re…" he pursued his lips and sucked in a deep breath.

Mary managed to lift her head enough to glare at him, murder positively burning in her eyes, kneeling on the seat, "Don't you start!" she snarled savagely at him.

"…lax," he finished slowly, eyeing her warily, right before Mary's hand shot out to the side of his head and pressed his face against the glass of his side window.

Amelia's eyes widened, "Okay, who's stupid idea was it to put Sherlock in the back seat?" she shook her head, "Why the hell is John, the _doctor_, driving when he should be in the bloody back seat right now!"

John glanced across to her, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white, "Um…" he licked his lips, "That's actually a _really_ good point".

She glanced nervously back to Sherlock, his face still pressed painfully against his window, "Yeah, no kidding," she muttered, hoping he wouldn't end up bruising.

"John?" Mary gasped out, bracing herself against the back of Sherlock's head, while the detective remained pressed firmly against his window, "John, I think you have to pull over!"

"Mary…" John said calmingly, glancing up into the rear-view mirror. Amelia could only watch over the top of her seat, her expression filled with horror, "Mary…"

"_Pull over_!" she positively shouted, falling back into her seat, finally releasing Sherlock, who actually lowered his phone and finally seemed to be paying the screaming woman next to him attention.

Amelia flinched at the loud yell, paling as she looked down at Mary's legs, just as a gush of water suddenly came from beneath her skirt. Next to Mary, Sherlock had an expression on his face that Amelia was certain she had never seen before, a look crossed between pure horror and terror at what was happening, staring with wide eyes at Mary's legs.

"Oh my God!" he exclaimed, actually lifting his feet up slightly, as though he was worried about getting his shoes wet, just as Mary gave a feral scream that almost rattled the windows.

"Get us to a hospital," Amelia breathed, swallowing hard, unable to take her eyes off Mary as she began sobbing loudly, "John, I swear to God…break whatever road law you have to, just get us there. _Now_!"

John glanced at her and then up into the mirror back into the back seat, just as Mary gave another agonised scream. Amelia flinched again and clapped her hands over her ears, very seriously considering a life of celibacy, after all…there was only one birth control that was one hundred percent effective.

…

Thankfully, they _did _end up making it to the hospital before Mary ended up giving birth in the backseat of the car, Sherlock and Amelia had very quickly found themselves rather useless from then on, John and Mary were quickly ushered off into a private room within the maternity ward with a midwife, leaving the detectives to awkwardly linger in the small waiting room out by the reception of the maternity ward. From behind the closed double doors that John and Mary had disappeared through, they could hear the muffled noises of other patients screaming in pain. Amelia winced and crossed her legs uncomfortably in her seat, avoiding looking at Sherlock as they waited. A full fifteen minutes of silence must have gone by without either of them even saying a word, Sherlock looked as though he might never speak again after the shock of what had just happened, for once his phone was held loosely in his right hand, staring distractedly at the wall ahead of them with several health promotional posters stuck to it.

"So…" Amelia said softly, feeling slightly better now that she wasn't expecting to have to help deliver a baby on the side of the road. It also helped that she didn't have to hear Mary screaming and sobbing, that had been rather disturbing to witness, being unable to do anything to even try to help her. She licked her painted red lips, glancing sideways at Sherlock's profile, "That was…an experience".

"That's putting it lightly," he replied, sounding perfectly normal, though Amelia could see how rattled he actually still was by the tense way that he held himself.

She breathed a small laugh, tilting her head back into the wall behind her chair, "Yeah, it was pretty intense, wasn't it?" she did feel lighter now then she had back in the car, the idea of going celibate had been a bit of a rash reaction, "Still, it was interesting".

"Oh, yes. You seemed terribly interested back in the car, Amelia, I do believe the words 'Sherlock Holmes, don't you dare think you're ever coming within ten feet of me again,' came from you just as we arrived outside the hospital".

She blushed, "That was…I was shocked, okay?" she said lamely, glancing embarrassedly at him as he pulled his gaze off the wall to fix her with a look, "I didn't know what I was saying".

He pretended to look thoughtful, "Hmm, perhaps I should have also reminded you that you happened to be shouting at the time," he added, his tone light and casual, while Amelia's cheeks were positively burning as she remembered, very clearly, saying those very words to him as she helped grab Mary's hospital bag out of the boot. He wasn't finished, it seemed, still looking thoughtful, "I also seem to recall one of the nurses happened to be there at the time…"

"_Okay_!" Amelia turned in her chair and quickly covered his mouth with her hand, looking mortified as she remembered, vividly, the rather stunned expression on the barely twenty five year old nurse who had been just coming off her shift had given her when she had…_screamed _the words at Sherlock. In her defence, she had _only _been screaming to be heard over Mary's own cries of pain, which probably wasn't much of a defence, when she thought about it. She lowered her hand from his mouth, grimacing slightly as he arched his eyebrows at her, almost seeming amused, "Just…shut up," she sighed, deflating slightly in her chair, which truly was horribly uncomfortable.

"Remind me again how it was _such_ an interesting experience, Amelia?"

"Well…" she hesitated slightly, still feeling rather embarrassed by his teasing, it didn't help matters that he managed to tease her while sounding and looking so perfectly calm, even though she knew that he had been anything but when they had arrived at the hospital, "It's the start of a new life, John and Mary are going to be parents, which in itself is still something we'll all need to get to used to. I don't know…" she released a long breath through her lips, glancing out of the corner of her eye at Sherlock, who had his eyes slightly narrowed, his head turned towards the wall again, though he was obviously listening intently, "I suppose it just makes you think about the future".

"_Really_, Amelia?" he sighed, closing his eyes and tilting his back slightly.

"What? I'm just saying, Holmes…"

He lifted his head and opened his eyes, looking at her with a half-exasperated look, "After the experience we just had, you really think _now_ is a good time to try broaching the subject of children?"

Amelia opened her mouth to deny it, panicking slightly at the fact that he had figured it out so quickly, before she paused, pressing her lips together. Oh, why was she even panicking right now, she had been the one to bring it up, hoping he would catch on…though, she supposed she hadn't quite expected him to catch on that quickly, she had rather hoped some of the shock was still lingering, slowing him. But she supposed it was just better this way, she wouldn't have to be subtle about it, though she had expected him to have slightly more of a reaction then he had.

"You're not even surprised, are you?" she huffed slightly, fixing him with an annoyed look of her own. It figures he wouldn't be, while she had spent the past few months trying to figure out when to try and bring up the subject, trying not to completely freak him out. Most guys got twitchy talking about the subject of kids as it was, who knew how Sherlock Holmes would react?

"Obviously," he rolled his eyes, making it sound as though she was being an idiot for even thinking any differently, "Amelia, I've expected you to at least attempt to speak on the matter ever since I got shot. I have to admit, I thought you were going to say something at Christmas".

"And you never thought to…oh, I don't know, perhaps bring up the subject yourself?"

He shrugged, pressing his fingertips together and bringing them up beneath his chin, gazing absently across the room, "Eventually you would come to it," he said lightly, while Amelia stared at him in disbelief.

"I've spent the past five months waiting for the time to even subtly bring it up," she said softly, shaking her head slowly, not taking her eyes off the side of his face, "And you're telling me…all that stress, all the time I tried to think of _how_ to speak to you about it…was for _nothing_?" she barely kept her voice from rising to a shout at the last part, reminding herself firmly that she was in a hospital and they would throw them out if they started shouting at each other.

John and Mary would not be impressed about that.

Sherlock glanced back across to her, his expression perfectly calm, despite the hint of anger now bubbling in her dark eyes, "Yes," he frowned suddenly, looking almost confused, as though he had suddenly realised that she might be just a little upset with him, "Problem?"

Amelia inhaled deeply, her hands squeezing the hard, plastic armrest of her seat as she glared at him, desperately trying to remind herself that she couldn't shout at him that yes, she did have a problem, she had a problem with the fact that he could have so easily have just said something months ago and allowed her to simply deal with it then, without spending all this time worrying about how she was supposed to bring up such a important topic with him without completely freaking him out. She had been trying to make it easier for _him_, while he could have just said something. God, it took every ounce of her self-control not to smack his arm or get up and storm out of the room like a child.

"Sherlock," she began after a moment, her voice tight, "Next time you know or suspect I have something of a sensitive nature I wish to speak to you about…just say something!" she finished with a slightly raised voice, though she wasn't quite shouting, it would still likely earn her a disproving look and a warning.

"Shh!" he hushed her, casting the nursing sitting behind the desk on the other side of the room a quick glance, before turning back to her with an almost disproving expression of his own.

"Oh, don't look at _me_ like that," she snapped, mindful to keep her voice low as she shot the front desk a quick glance. The nurse sitting behind it hadn't even seemed to notice them, busying doing some paperwork. She fixed him with an angry glare, "I swear to God, I am _this_ close…" she held up her fingers to show her thumb and index finger held just an inch apart, "…to slapping you right now, so don't tempt me. I can't believe you let me stress for all this time!"

"Really, Amelia, threats? We're in a hospital…"

"Good for you, since they'll be able to fix your nose when I punch you, then".

Sherlock swiftly snapped his mouth shut, eyeing her with a vaguely wary expression now as Amelia gave him a positively murderous expression, daring him to say something that would only anger her further. He shifted slightly away from her, as though preparing himself to throw himself out of his chair, should he need to.

"Amelia…" he said after a long moment, his voice sounding soft, gentle, even, "I…realise I might have…handled this a little poorly…" he hesitated as Amelia huffed, crossing her arms across her chest with a dark expression written across her face, "But I am…sorry".

"Huh," Amelia eyed him closely, her expression unchanged, her body tense with annoyance as she regarded him, "It seems that you're starting to make this apologising thing a habit, Holmes".

He seemed to take the use of his last name as a good sign, his body relaxing slightly as he settled himself more comfortably in his seat, "Don't tell anyone," he told her with a cool look, though she knew it was just a pretence to the fact that he was relieved that she wasn't about to actually do anything, "I'd hate to have to call you a liar, Amelia".

She scoffed, her eyes softening very slightly, "Who's the liar now, Holmes?" she caught his eye and he smirked very slightly, which earned him an exasperated eye roll. She uncrossed her arms, clasping her hands together on top of her crossed legs, feeling her anger draining away almost as easily as it had washed over her. He had apologised, which was a big deal for him, but what was an even bigger deal was the fact that he had admitted that he had perhaps been wrong in the way that he had handled the situation, she knew he didn't take doing that very lightly, so she had to give him some credit. Even if she was still annoyed, though not nearly as annoyed enough to want to shout at him.

Sherlock was watching her again, his eyes very serious as he seemed to be considering his next words carefully, silence washing over them, "I think you would make a good mother, Amelia," he said suddenly, shocking her as her head snapped back around to stare him, her eyes wide as his words hit her as though someone had slapped her. His voice was perfectly calm as he spoke, as though he was stating a fact or a deduction, regarding her with those pale blue eyes of his, "You're one of the most patient individuals that I know, you are warm and kind and you would certainly have the best dressed child of all of London…"

She laughed at that, which made him smile softly, "Careful, Sherlock," she warned gently, giving him a teasing smile, "Someone might think you're sentimental if you keep saying such lovely things about me".

"I already warned you I'm not above calling you a liar," he told her with a hint of smirk on his lips, making her laugh again, his eyes soft and gentle, almost tender, as he watched her. He reached out his hand, allowing it to just lightly brush against her arm through the gap of the armrest between them, which made her just as happy as she would have been if he had grabbed her hand, as anyone else might have, "I think motherhood would suit you," he continued, his tone growing more serious, "In fact, I would go so far as to say it would be a shame for you not to be a mother".

Amelia swallowed hard at his words, her heart pounding in her chest, almost making her feel light headed as she glanced down at his hand lightly brushing against her own arm, feeling the warmth of it through the fabric of her coat. She felt almost shaky, as though her blood pressure had suddenly dropped, but giddy at the same with an almost sickening sense of excitement and delight that his words brought to her. It meant so much to her that he thought that highly of her, and that he actually thought it would be a shame for her not to be a mother, she never would have imagined that he, of all people, would express something like that to anyone, including her. She felt such a rush of affectation and love for him that it took everything inside of her not to just grab the front of his shirt and pull him to her, but she forced herself to keep her fingers firmly clasped in her lap, knowing that while they were out in public, she had to let him be the one to set the rules of what he was comfortable with in regards to affection. Even if right now, in this moment, she wanted nothing more than to just kiss him.

"Sherlock," she said finally, her voice thankfully sounding stronger then she had expected it to, bringing her gaze back up to his, "You have no idea how much it means to me that you think that, honestly…I would kiss you right now, if we weren't in public," she took a slightly shaky breath as he lifted an eyebrow very slightly, almost looking amused, "You think I'd make a good mum, but what about you?" she searched his face carefully, looking for any hint of what he might be feeling as his expression became blank, "What do you think about parenthood?"

Sherlock pulled back from her, withdrawing his hand from her arm, "I think we both know that would be a mistake," he said after a very long, tense silence, his tone carefully controlled. He looked away from her, gazing back across the room towards the wall once again, his tense shoulders the only hint of how he might be feeling, "Fatherhood…it's hardly something I've ever considered, Amelia".

"So was falling in love or dating, but yet…here we are".

"That's hardly the same thing".

"It could be," she eyed him closely, wishing she could look into his mind and see what he was thinking, what he was feeling that he was trying so hard not to show her right now. She knew that there had to be a part of him that hard considered it, his dream while he was high and where they had been married with children was proof enough to her that a part of him, deep down inside, had thought about it enough for his own drug induced mind to somehow latch onto it and turn it into a story.

Sherlock still didn't look at her, though she noticed that he did clench his fist before he grasped the armrest of the chair on his right hand side, away from her, "I doubt very much if you could consider me to be an ideal father figure, Amelia," he said, his voice sounding quite stiff, "I'm a drug addict, after all, and a high functioning sociopath, even if you disagree".

"And my twin brother was a psychopath who tried to kill us both. You think I _haven't _consider all of the possible genetic complications we could both pass on to any child we had? I have, I've considered it all, and I know the gamble that I'm willing to make, Sherlock Holmes, and I would chose to make it with you. Every. Single. Time".

She reached out and placed a hand over his left hand as it grasped his knee, grateful when he didn't pull away, though he still seemed to be trying to pretend as though she wasn't sitting right next to him. She swallowed, hard, turning her gaze onto the wall ahead of them, squeezing his hand.

"I would never force you into anything, Sherlock," she went on in a softer tone, not letting go of his hand, "Don't think for a second that this changes anything, for God's sake there's no way in hell I am ready to have a child now, or even within the next year, but eventually…maybe. And I need to know where you stand on the subject, because there's only a few years left for me to think about it. Just…" she paused, releasing a slow breath through her lips, closing her eyes, just wanting to try and get him to actually consider it, not dismiss it because of the fact that he was different and a drug addict, "Think on it, be open minded, because there is no one else in this entire world that I would even consider being the father of my children, Sherlock".

She let her hand linger over his for a second longer, before she smiled faintly and opened her eyes, releasing his hand as she rose, her legs aching slightly from sitting for so long. She didn't spare Sherlock another glance as she crossed the waiting room and slipped into the ladies bathroom, though she felt his gaze on her back as she went. She crossed the white tiled room, coming to stand before the large mirror that hung over the sink, meeting her reflections eyes. She looked tired, though that was nothing new, she carefully reached up to lightly run her finger beneath her eyes, carefully wiping away any smudges, before sighing heavily, letting her hand drop onto the top edge of the sink.

She hadn't quite expected that the conversation concerning children would be quite that heavy, she'd had it before, once, when she had been married the first time and she had been quite firm back then that she wouldn't be having any children for a long time. Her first husband hadn't been quite as happy, but she had held firm to it, now she knew that if she did want to have a child, she needed to do it within the next few years, if that was what she wanted. For all she knew, perhaps it was just the fact that she was so excited for John and Mary, perhaps motherhood truly was something she had long since put behind her, but she didn't think so, not completely. And the idea of it coming between herself and Sherlock was the last thing she wanted, but she also couldn't stand the idea of one day resenting him because she didn't speak up when she had the chance. They needed to have this talk, which certainly hadn't finished, but now Sherlock needed to come to terms with everything she had said and figure out what he wanted. It was a part of being in a grownup relationship, after all, it couldn't all be flirting bickering and solving crimes.

Amelia straightened herself, lifting her chin as she looked back at her reflection, absently straightening her coat. She gave herself a nod, before turning on her heel and heading back outside into the waiting area, just in time to catch John throwing the ward's doors open, grinning broader then she had ever seen him, laughing with pure joy as he almost jogged out to them. Sherlock stood from his chair, coming to stand by Amelia as John reached them.

"She's here!" he cried through his laughter, his eyes looking quite damp, as though he had been crying. He suddenly grabbed Amelia, pulling her into a tight hug, which made her gasp in surprise, "I'm a dad!" he practically cheered, right in her ear, making her wince around her delighted smile as she hugged him back.

"Oh, John," she smiled, pulling back enough to kiss his cheek, feeling her heart instantly lighten with happiness and relief that everything had seemingly gone well, "I'm just so happy for you both. How's Mary?"

"Tired, but fantastic," he said, reaching up to absently wipe his eyes, before letting her go to suddenly throw his arms around Sherlock, who grunted very slightly at the impact, "They're both just so amazing," he told them, laughing again as Sherlock awkwardly stood there, his arms hanging as his sides, giving Amelia an almost pleading look over John's shoulder…Amelia simply smiled and shook her head. John finally pulled back from Sherlock, his smile lighting up the room with his joy and excitement, almost taking Amelia's breath away, "Come on, you've got to come and see them…"

"Oh, I'm sure Mary's probably not in the mood for visitors…" Sherlock began hastily; eyeing John with a slightly wary expression, as though fearing another hug attack from the obviously overjoyed man before them.

"No, no, no," John cut him off, almost buzzing with happiness, unable to quite keep still, "You've got to come and say hello, Mary's waiting".

"Sherlock," Amelia gave him a stern look, reaching out to grab his arm, just in case he should try and sneak away, "This is your goddaughter we're talking about, you can't not see her after she's just been born".

Sherlock sighed heavily, looking resigned as he gave John a tight smile, "Congratulations, John," he told him, holding out his hand towards John to shake, sounding completely sincere, even if he obviously felt a little uncomfortable by how happy John was. He apparently didn't quite know how to handle it, which Amelia found positively hilarious, though she kept her amusement to herself.

John almost looked as though he might cry again, grabbing Sherlock's hand and shaking it firmly, "It means a lot," he told them as let go of Sherlock's hand, looking between them both, his voice sounding a little chocked, "Having you both here for this. I wouldn't have wanted anyone else".

"Oh, John," Amelia bit her lip, feeling her eyes welling up slightly at his words, truly feeling so very grateful for his friendship, "You're going to make me cry, and I swear, I'll never forgive you if you make me ruin my makeup".

He laughed again, sniffing slightly, "Not even if I let you hold my daughter?" he smiled widely.

"Okay, so maybe I can completely forgive you for everything, including ruining my makeup and burning my entire wardrobe if you let me hold her, but…only this one time, Watson".

"Well, come on, then".

Amelia really didn't need to be told twice, tugging Sherlock alongside her as they trailed after John, who led them back through the double doors and onto the main section of the maternity ward, which was mostly a long hallway with several doors leading off it, before the hallway turned to the right and went down another hallway with more doors off it. Some pieces of medical equipment had been left sitting outside a couple of the doors, such as what Amelia thought might be a scanner, like the ones she had seen on _One Born Every Minute_ that she and Mary had binged watched one evening with Molly. They didn't see anyone as they went down the hallway, though they could hear muffled screams coming from some of the closed doors, though Amelia was far too excited to pay them much mind as John led them to one of the rooms, reaching out to grasp the metal doorhandle and swinging it open.

The hospital room was rather nice; with a door connecting into what Amelia imagined must be the bathroom just on the left hand side as they entered. A large section of darkened windows ran across the other side of the room, while the hospital bed was pushed up against the left wall, where Mary was sitting propped up with several pillows behind her back, looking very tired with her hair pushed back off her face, her cheeks slightly paler then normal and dark circles under her eyes, but the joyful smile on her face possibly reviled John's own. She was wearing a pair of flannel pyjamas with a floral design across them, cradling a small bundle wrapped up in a pale pink blanket in her arms.

"Hey," Mary greeted them, smiling widely as she caught sight of them, her voice sounding slightly horse. John instantly moved to her side, bending over her to press a kiss to her forehead, which made her close her eyes, before he turned his attention onto the bundle in her arms, looking utterly besotted.

"Mary," Amelia couldn't help whispering, feeling as though to speak at normal tones was simply too loud for the small, peaceful room. She felt slightly awkward as she moved closer to the end of the bed, while Sherlock lingered by the doorway, no doubt feeling even more out of his element right now then she did, though she couldn't really say she understood why she was feeling so funny. Perhaps it was because she had never been in this sort of setting before, after all, no one she knew had any children, certainly no one she was close to, anyway. She caught a peek of the sleeping baby girl bundled up in the blankets and felt her heart melt, "Ooh, look at her," she cooed softly, her lips stretching into a thrilled smile, "She's beautiful, Mary, John".

John looked proudly down at his daughter, "I think she looks like Mary".

"Maybe a little bit around the eyes," Mary agreed, peering down at the baby in her arms, her smile tired but undeniably happy, "I think she's got the Watson nose".

"Poor thing," Amelia teased lightly, shooting John a smirk.

He barely seemed to even register her teasing, pulling his eyes off his daughter to glance over to her, "Do you want to hold her?"

Amelia hesitated, licking her lips slightly nervously as she eyed just how tiny and very fragile looking baby Watson actually was, it seemed like a terribly daunting task to be given such a great responsibility as to hold her. But she couldn't deny that she desperately want to hold her, regardless of her own concerns, this was John's daughter, after all, and her goddaughter, but still…baby Watson really did look like the slightest move could end up breaking something.

"Are you sure?" she looked between John and Mary, sensing Sherlock's curious gaze on the side of her face from where he still lingered by the door, no doubt trying to deduce why she suddenly seemed so anxious, "I mean…you guys do know I've never actually held a baby before, right?"

"What, never?" Mary blinked, surprised.

"How many friends do I have with kids?"

"You'll be fine," John reassured her, which Amelia thought was rather confidant for him to say, given what she had just admitted. He carefully bent down over Mary, who delicately lifted baby Watson up into his arms, John cradling her as though he had done it a hundred times before…which he likely had, given his profession as a doctor, "Take a seat, it'll be easier," he nodded over to where another plastic framed, vinyl chair was sitting up against the wall beneath the window, for guests.

Amelia quickly moved across to it and sat down, feeling her nerves and excitement rising as John came to stand before her, bending down slightly as he carefully lowered baby Watson into her arms, carefully lifting her left elbow up a little higher so that she was supporting the baby's neck properly. She released a breathe, barely daring to move an inch as she cradled baby Watson in her arms against her chest, the baby still sleeping away. She barely weighed a thing; if Amelia had to guess she would estimate that she was just on seven pounds, with a surprising amount of light brown hair covering the top of her head. Looking down into her face, Amelia couldn't help finding herself falling just a little in love, warmth filling her chest and the sense that no matter what, she would try to be the best godmother she could possibly be. She was so going to spoil little Watson, she'd never want for anything, Amelia was already trying to think of how she could get John and Mary agree to letting her help get her into the best private schools in the country, even if it meant paying the school fees herself.

Who would have thought that when she first came into John and Sherlock's life all those years ago that she would be sitting here, holding John's daughter in her arms. She felt as though they had come a very long way since those early years, back when she tried so hard not to allow herself to get close to Sherlock for fear of him learning her secret, from John desperately seeking some way of relieving the boredom of being back to an ordinary life without a war to fight, and then there was Sherlock…he had perhaps come the furthest in the past several years. He went from being a man who barely interacted with the rest of the world unless it related to a case, to now having real, proper friends and relationships with people. Amelia thought he was happier for it, she remembered how cold and distant he had seemed at the start, but now he actually showed that he was capable of being tender and caring and, dare she say it, human.

Amelia was so focused on her own thoughts, she barely even noticed that John had snapped a picture of her, "See?" his voice was brought her back, making her blink and look up, finding him lowering his camera…apparently he had decided to do things properly and bring an actual camera along with them, rather than just their phones. He grinned at her, "If you can handle chasing criminals halfway across London in six inch heels, Amelia, I'm pretty sure you can handle holding a baby".

Amelia smiled a little embarrassedly, avoiding glancing at Sherlock, who had edged slightly closer to the bed, "High heels are a lot less fragile, John," she reminded him, privately thinking that chasing down criminals in heels seemed like a lot less danger then possibly dropping baby Watson right now. She finally looked over to Sherlock, finding him regarding her with a curious expression on his face, his moth very slightly lifted, though the second he seemed to notice that she was looking at him, it was gone, making it difficult to tell just what he had been thinking, "You're being very quiet, Sherlock," she said pointedly, hoping to try and get him to relax a little, "What do you think?"

Sherlock moved to stand by the side of her chair, peering down into the blankets, "Hmm…" he hummed thoughtfully, eyeing baby Watson for a moment, "I think Mary's quite right, she'll have John's nose, of course it's a little too soon to tell just what eye colour she'll have, though genetically…"

"Sherlock," John cut across him, making him stop midsentence and glance over to the other man, standing just by the end of the bed, looking vaguely exasperated, "What do you think of the _baby_, not who do you think she'll look like".

He hesitated slightly, clasping his hands behind his back, a gesture Amelia suspected was his way of trying to not seem as though he was feeling completely out of his element right now, "She seems…pleasing," he finally said.

Amelia smiled faintly, giving him a proud look, though she resisted the urge to make any comment on how difficult she imagined it must have been for him to even say something like that right now. _Pleasing _was certainly a better way of describing the baby then what he might have used, like saying that seemed to be healthy or calling baby Watson perfectly ordinary for an infant. With Sherlock, it really could have gone either way.

"Do you want to hold her?" Mary asked him, giving him an encouraging look.

Sherlock took a small step back from Amelia's chair, "I don't think that's very wise," he told her, his tone quite stiff, "She seems…breakable".

"It's really not that bad, Holmes," Amelia said gently, giving him a hopeful smile as he looked at her quickly, "If I can do it, you can. Go on".

Sherlock looked far from thrilled by the prospect, though he made no more attempt to argue the matter as Amelia nodded to John, who carefully took the baby back into his arms and Amelia rose from the chair, gesturing for Sherlock to sit down as she moved to stand next to the chair, instead. Sherlock made a show of sighing loudly as he sat down, though he became very still as John placed the baby into his arms. Amelia gripped the button on her coat, watching his face intently as Sherlock looked quite odd sitting there in his favoured coat, cradling a bundle of pink in his arms, though she couldn't say that the sight didn't make her heart rate increase just a little bit. John quickly took another picture, and Amelia made a mental note to get a copy of it.

"See?" she murmured, placing a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, squeezing it through his coat, "Not so bad after all, is it?"

He looked down into baby Watson's face for a moment, "Perhaps not," he admitted quietly.

John and Mary tactfully pretended not to hear him, while Amelia couldn't stop the massive smile from blooming across her lips.

…

Mary and baby Watson were released from hospital just three days later, declared to be perfectly healthy. Amelia had returned to the hospital each afternoon, during the visiting hours, just to check up on them both and make sure that Mary had everything that she needed, bringing with her a massive bouquet of brilliant pink roses in honour of baby Watson's gender, along with a large gift bag with an assortment of baby things, such as a couple of little dresses that she simply couldn't resist buying and a box of expensive bubble bath and location for Mary, wanting to make sure that the new mum would have something nice, just for herself, to enjoy and relax with once she got home. Of course, she hadn't forgotten John, she had given him a nice bottle of top shelf scotch with a customised label on the front of it, marking the date, time, and place of baby Watson's birth. Sherlock had reluctantly joined her on the last visit, which he spent largely tapping away on his phone, until Mary ordered him to put it away and hold the baby.

The afternoon that Mary and the baby got out of hospital, the Watson's decided to hold a small gathering at their home. Mrs Hudson was practically cooing over the baby even more then Amelia, which was saying a lot, while Molly hadn't stopped smiling since she had arrived, while the new parents sat on the sofa, Mary cradling their daughter as helium balloons floated on strings just behind the sofa. Several gift bags had been left on the coffee table before the new family, along with the vase of roses that Amelia had given them, and a large white teddy bear that had been a gift from Molly, which sat beside the sofa.

Amelia smiled brightly, lifting her champagne flute up to her pale pink lips as she took a sip of the bubbling liquid, watching from beside Sherlock across the room from the couple as Mrs Hudson instructed them to smile, trying to take a picture of them. John looked years younger than Amelia had ever seen him, his eyes lit up in pure happiness as he sat close to his wife, one arm wrapped around Mary's back, while Mary smiled up at the camera as she held baby Watson's tiny hand with two of her own fingers. It warmed her heart to see how truly happy and settled they were, though she did wonder how long it would take before that wore off. Baby Watson had only been home for twenty minutes, after all.

A small, bright flash of light emitted from the camera in Mrs Hudson's hands, and she frowned slightly, "Has that come out?" she asked Molly, who stood beside her as she sipped her own champagne, peering at the tiny screen on the camera. She laughed in exasperation, "They never come out when I take them!"

Molly swallowed her mouthful, giving her a small smile, "Let's have a look," she said as she placed her glass down on the corner of the coffee table, straightening as she took the camera from the older woman.

"Aww," Mrs Hudson cooed, again, as she turned her attention back onto the baby cradled in Mary's arms, Mary lightly rubbing the baby's back as she started to fuss, "She's so beautiful".

"She really is," Amelia agreed, her smile softening as she eyed the baby, feeling the urge to just want to hold her and cuddle her into her chest. She had to admit, she might have been just a little overcome by baby fever, she was quite sure she had probably driven Sherlock up the wall going on about how adorable she thought baby Watson was, which was still something rather new for Amelia to experience. She had never really been interested in babies or kids, not until now, anyway. Next to her, Sherlock dragged his eyes off his phone long enough to give her an exasperated glare, before quickly becoming engrossed with his mobile device once more.

Molly glanced over to Amelia and gave her a broad grin, looking rather amused by Amelia's obvious affection for the baby, before she held the camera out towards Mrs Hudson, "Have another go," she told her.

Mrs Hudson took the camera back, eagerly looking back across to John and Mary, "What about a name?" she asked them, just as Amelia's phone buzzed in her blazer pocket, something she choose to ignore for the time being, unlike someone…she shot Sherlock a small glare. They might have been working on a case, but it wouldn't hurt to take a break for an hour or so.

"Catharine," John replied, smiling broadly.

"Uh, yeah," Mary cut in quickly, glancing at him, "We've gone off that".

"Have we?" he blinked, giving her a slightly surprised look. Amelia lifted an eyebrow, amused.

"Yeah".

"Oh".

"Well, you know what I think…" Sherlock commented without so much as glancing up from his phone, his thumbs rapidly texting.

"It's not a girl's name," John and Mary said in unison, making Amelia shake her head in amusement, lightly nudging Sherlock's side.

Sherlock smirked, his eyes flickering briefly across to Amelia, "Of course, 'Amelia' and 'Grace' are both _very_ feminine names…" he continued in the same tone, his gaze returning to the screen on his phone, though his smirk remained firmly in place.

"They're not naming the baby after me, either, Holmes," Amelia sighed, giving him a look caught between amusement and fondness, before she paused, smiling faintly as she looked back across to John and Mary, "Or though, I certainly would be very flattered if you_ did_".

"Maybe if we have another one," Mary said with a small smile, which was more than enough for Amelia, who instantly brightened.

John shook his head, looking across to the other side of the room to Molly and Mrs Hudson, "Molly, Mrs H," he began, looking hopeful, "We would love you to be godparents".

Instantly, both women broke into excited and delighted laughter, Molly couldn't seem to believe that they had actually asked her, her expression one of complete shock. Amelia smiled; taking a sip from her glass, having already expected that John and Mary would likely ask either one of the women…she hadn't quite expected them to ask both of them, but it was such a lovely idea. Baby Watson would certainly never want for a female role model as she grew up.

"Oh!" Molly gasped, grinning widely.

"If you…" he went to go on.

"_Really_?" Molly cut across him, laughing slightly again in delighted surprise.

"So lovely!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed, positively thrilled.

John smiled slightly, apparently realising that he really didn't need to ask if they were happy to accept the role, shaking his head faintly in amusement as he climbed onto his feet and caught Amelia's eye. He carefully edged around his coffee table as he moved towards the detectives, leaving Molly and Mrs Hudson to coo over the baby, Molly perching herself on the edge of the couch next to Mary, who settled the baby in her arms. He cleared his throat slightly, raising his eyebrows at them as he stopped before them.

"So, uh…" he shot Sherlock a quick look, though Sherlock was utterly engrossed with his phone, "I know we pretty much just told you that you were going to be godparents, but we…eh, didn't really _ask_ if that was okay…"

Amelia gave him a warm smile, remembering how John and Mary had pretty much just said that she would be the godmother of their child, no matter what, while she had spent that week from hell waiting for Sherlock to be exiled or thrown into some sort of dark prison. They had come around to Baker Street the morning after everything had happened on that horrible Christmas day, and told her then, no doubt trying to cheer her up and distract her at the time. It had helped, she had to admit, it reminded her that no matter what might happen with Sherlock, her life would still go on without him, which had been a horrible thought to think of, but it had also forced her to start thinking about what to do should the worst happen. That, in itself, had provided a useful distraction. Sherlock being the godfather was pretty much just a given, after he managed to escape being exiled to certain death, they had all known it was what would happen once the baby was born, but no one had technically asked him. It was just…implied.

"Oh, John," she said happily, reaching out to place her hand on his arm, "Nothing could make me more delighted. Of course I'll be your daughter's godmother".

"Thank you, Amelia," he returned her smile with an even brighter one of his own, and she thought she might have even detected a slight hint of relief, as though he had actually feared she might turn it down. He cleared his throat again, turning to Sherlock, his expression growing slightly nervous, "Um, Sherlock?" he said, trying to get his attention.

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed absently, still texting.

"Godfather, Sherlock? We'd like you to be godfather, officially".

"God is a ludicrous fiction dreamed up by inadequate who abnegate all responsibility to an invisible magic friend".

Amelia closed her eyes, sighing, "Sherlock," she said warningly.

John gave him an mildly annoyed look, though he didn't seem the slightest bit surprised that Sherlock had to make even this difficult, when he pretty much already had the job, "Yeah, but there'll be cake," he told him, giving him a stern look, "Will you do it?"

Sherlock managed to drag his eyes off his phone long enough to give him a faint frown, "I'll get back to you," he muttered, returning to his texting once more.

"Of _course _he'll do it," Amelia said firmly, grabbing Sherlock's arm and tightening her hold on his elbow, making him frown again and throw her a quick look. She ignored it, smiling happily at John.

"I don't suppose you could also try and get him to leave the phone at home, too?" John asked hopefully, giving the phone that seemed to be permanently fixed in Sherlock's hands theses days a quick glance, but if anyone might be able to get Sherlock to leave it at home for a few hours, it would be Amelia; he just didn't really want to know _how _she convinced him.

Her smile became slightly more fixed, "Let's focus on one miracle at a time, shall we?" she told him warily, before lifting her champagne glass in a toast towards him, ignoring the scoff Sherlock gave, "To fatherhood".

….

Six weeks later marked the day of the christening and Amelia found herself trying desperately hard not to glare at Sherlock as he stood beside her during the ceremony, tapping away at his phone…because apparently the man didn't just have _one_ phone, but_ two_, something she had failed to consider when she had confiscated his original phone that morning and hidden it in her garter beneath her floral dress, pretty much the one place she had been certain even Sherlock Holmes couldn't sneakily steal it back, not unless she was foolish enough to let him get close to her. But yet, here he was, texting away by her side without any hindrance, she really ought to have known he didn't put up much of a fight when she demanded he hand her his phone unless he wished to spend a week on a cruise ship with his parents and brother.

She pressed her lightly glossed lips together, turning her attention back onto the elderly vicar as he stood at the front of the church over the top of the baptismal font, John and Mary, cradling the baby, standing next to him. Molly was standing on the right of Sherlock, watching the vicar, looking rather pretty in her floral dress and white cardigan, while Mrs Hudson stood on her other side, next to Lestrade, close to where a middle aged couple were standing with delighted expressions on their faces.

"Father," the vicar was saying over the top of the water, "We ask you to send your blessing on this water…" he leaned over the font and made the sign of the cross over the water, "…and sanctify it for our use this day, in Christ's name," he lightly shook the water off his hand as Amelia resisted the urge to say 'Amen,' her Catholic upbringing rearing its head. The vicar turned towards John and Mary, "Now, what name have you given your daughter?"

Mary glanced at John, sharing a smile, before looking back up to the man, "Rosamund Mary," she replied happily.

"Rosamund?" Sherlock repeated, looking up briefly from his phone with a frown.

"_Yes_, Sherlock," Amelia whispered, giving the side of his face a small glare of annoyance, "Now, please pay attention".

"Did you know it means 'rose of the world?'" Molly said quietly, smiling as she glanced at Sherlock, who had already gone back to his texting, "Rosie for short," she paused as Sherlock shot her a disproving look, just as little Rosie gave a small wail from her mother's arms. Molly blinked slowly, staring at him in realisation, "Didn't you get John's text?"

"No," he muttered distractedly, and Amelia's eye twitched as the sound of his phone's keys being pressed seemed horribly loud in the quiet of the church, "I delete his texts. I delete any text that begins with, 'Hi,'" he tilted his head slightly towards Amelia without taking his eyes off his phone, "If it had been important, Amelia would have told me, I imagine".

"I _did _tell you," Amelia huffed, while Molly looked at Sherlock as though she had never seen him before. She shot her ever so _dutiful_ boyfriend an angry look, "You didn't bother to listen".

"I _always_ listen to you, Amelia, I simply deleted it".

"Oh, that's so much better!" she hissed, her expression positively icy. Mrs Hudson cleared her throat pointedly, making Amelia sigh, "Sorry," she smiled apologetically across to the older woman, who gave her a mildly disproving look. She turned her gaze back onto the ceremony, discreetly touching the back of Sherlock's hand, "Put it away, Sherlock, or I swear…we'll be playing Bingo with your parents and avoiding Mycroft at the buffet table on that cruise ship".

Sherlock glanced at her with a dark look; Amelia simply glared right back at him, watching as he rolled his eyes and reluctantly put his hands behind his back. She didn't fail to notice that he didn't exactly follow her demand, but as long as he was discreet, she could live with it. She took a deep, calming breath and turned back to watch as the vicar now cradled Rosie, who was still fussing.

"And now, godparents," the vicar called, looking directly down from the platform he stood on to Amelia, Sherlock, Molly, and Mrs Hudson, "Are you ready to help the parents of this child in their duties as Christian parents?"

"We are," all three women spoke in unison, Amelia and Molly both giving Sherlock a look when he remained noticeably silent. Molly nudged his side sharply, causing him to flinch and look up quickly.

"Sorry," a male SIRI voice emitted from behind Sherlock's back, drawing everyone's eyes upon the curly haired detective, "I didn't catch that," Amelia closed her eyes tightly and internally begged for the willpower not to strangle her boyfriend, while John stared at Sherlock's frozen form and Mary narrowed her eyes, "Please repeat the question".

Amelia opened her eyes and, with far more self-control then she felt currently when everything inside of her wanted to slap him, plucked the phone out of his hands.

….

It was four months later and Amelia was delighted to say that baby Rosie truly was turning out to be a rather wonderful five month old. She had even managed to convince John and Mary to let her babysit a couple of times, which had been an experience in itself…she may or may not have needed to Google how to change a nappy the first time, Sherlock certainly hadn't been any help in the matter, since he seemed to disappear the moment the possibility of needing to change a nappy came into the picture. But Sherlock was not nearly as opposed to the idea of having a baby around Baker Street, as Amelia had feared he might be, she had even caught up trying to comfort Rosie after she had woken up from a nap and Amelia had been called away to help Mrs Hudson with her shopping. It hadn't been overly successful, but he had tried, and it had warmed her heart to witness the moment.

John and Mary seemed to be adjusting well to parenthood, though Amelia noted with some amusement that the novelty of having a baby quickly wore off once Rosie started waking them several times during the night. Amelia had been forced to gently wake John more than once after she had found him snoring during one of the few times he had escaped the house without Mary and Rosie in toe. For the most part, the little family unit seemed to stick together, where one went, they all went, resulting in Amelia spending an entire afternoon trying to desperately baby proof the flat, which was an impossible task. Thankfully, it would be a while before Rosie would be walking or crawling, but it still set Amelia on edge seeing how many hazards the flat held.

"As ever, Watson, you see but do not observe…"

Amelia blinked slightly, Sherlock's exasperated voice travelling through into the kitchen as she made herself a cup of tea. John and Mary, with Rosie, of course, had dropped by to try and help them on their latest case, though it sounded as though one of the Watsons wasn't being overly helpful right now. Curious, she left her cup behind on the kitchen counter and moved to open the sliding door between the living room and kitchen, raising an eyebrow as she found Sherlock standing before John's old chair in his camel coloured dressing gown that Amelia had bought him for his last birthday.

"To you," Sherlock continued, oblivious to his audience, "The world remains an impenetrable mystery, to me, it is an open book. Hard logic versus romantic whimsy. That is your choice. You fail to connect actions to their consequences. Now, for the last time…" he stepped closer to the chair and bent down, picking up a lime green toy that rattled as he shook it slightly, "…if you wish to keep the rattle, do not throw the rattle, hm?"

Amelia barely contained a giggle, realising that he was actually speaking to Rosie as she sat up in her baby chair secured on the armchair. She settled on smiling widely as she watched Sherlock hold the rattle out to the baby, who gurgled happily and took it, Sherlock smiling happily…right before he was smacked in the face by the toy. It bounced off his face as he blinked, his smile instantly falling as Amelia chocked on her laughter, slapping a hand over her painted red lips as Sherlock straightened quickly at the noise, looking startled to find her watching from the doorway.

"How long where you standing there?" he practically demanded, pale blue eyes narrowed on her.

She smirked, stepping into the room, "Oh, just for the_ whole_ thing," she told him brightly, making him huff, likely from the embarrassment. She glanced across the room to where poor John and Mary were fast asleep on the sofa, John snoring lightly as he lean sideways into the side of the sofa, one hand resting heavily on top of Mary's leg as it was slung across his knees, Mary lying across the other half the couch, "Poor things," she said softly, glancing down over the top of the armchair at Rose, "You've been keeping them on their toes, haven't you?"

Rosie grinned up at her from around her fist, dribbling slightly.

"We should wake them," Sherlock remarked, flopping down into his favoured armchair, bringing his fingertips together beneath his chin as he regarded the sleeping couple with a small frown, no doubt not overly pleased with the fact that their sleeping would interfere with their work on the case if it meant that they also had to babysit.

"No," Amelia shook her head, smiling faintly at the utterly exhausted pair, "Let them sleep. I'm pretty sure they've earned it".

_**So, did I ever mention how much I hate maths? I hate it so, so much, I just don't understand it, but I have to in order to do my medications for my nursing…so, yeah, that's been super great. Thankfully, writing this helped distract me and helped me stress a little less. Anyway, so, this was a pretty big chapter in regards to relationships, Amelia and Sherlock had the very adult baby talk, which I felt was very important to include because it's a part of a real relationship. People have to speak about that sort of thing; even if they might never have kids, it's something I felt needed to be included and given what else was going on at the time, it seemed to fit well. Having said that, will Sherlock and Amelia have kids? At this point, it's up in the air; they still have more progress to make in their own relationship before that.**_

_**Next chapter, Amelia knows just how to break through even Sherlock Holmes's walls, is John hiding something? And Amelia's still got it. Tell me what you thought, please review :)**_


	3. Chapter 3 The Six Thatchers, Part 3

_**The Six Thatchers, Part 3**_

For once in her life, Amelia Wilson could say with absolute certainty that she was finally content and happy with how her life was currently playing out. When was the last time she felt this pleased with her own life, this free? She thought that the last time must have been when she was still just a child, before her mother had died and their family had become something of a shadow of what it once was, at least when her mother had still lived James had made an effort to pretend to be a mostly normal brother, her father hadn't worked practically every single day and driven himself into an early grave, and Amelia could just be a kid. But that changed with her mother's death and Amelia had found herself forced to grow-up. Her adolescents had not been a smooth one. It wasn't something she thought about often now days, she was far from proud of the person she had been back then, but now…now she could say that she was proud of herself.

Her life might not have quite turned out how she might have expected it to, but it was somehow so much better for it. She loved her friends, there wasn't anything she wouldn't do for them, even Mycroft could be counted as being amongst them now…when he wasn't being his usual, condescending self. She had found something of a family in them all now, Molly and Mary had become like the sister's she had always wanted and John was the brother she had always wished James could have been, Lestrade…he was kind of like a mixture of a favourite cousin and a older brother, and then there was the Holmes family. Mr and Mrs Holmes were always so kind and warm towards her, she thought that Mrs Holmes probably spoke to her more then she spoke to her own sons these days, while Mycroft still could be by far one of the most annoying people Amelia knew, she admired his commitment to his family. And then Sherlock…they were in a great place, she loved him and while he might not have said it again since the first time, she knew where she stood with him, she thought that she probably would have felt suffocated if he had suddenly began throwing 'I love you' around all the time. She was a sentimentalist, yes, but she also believed that words lost their meaning if used to often.

Amelia couldn't help feeling just a little of edge, despite how happy she was, waiting for the next explosion to come and stir up trouble. Surely this feeling couldn't last? Her brother's final game still hung over their heads and she and Sherlock still remained clueless about what it might be, but she was going to try and enjoy the peace for the time being, humming to herself a tune she had heard on the radio pumping through the supermarket speaker system, carrying two bags as she made her way up to the front door of Baker Street, the afternoon sun bright overhead as she managed to fish her key out of her blazer pocket and slipped it into the lock. She continued humming to herself as she made her way upstairs, pushing the living room door open to find Sherlock sitting in his favoured chair, looking thoughtful as he gazed off into the distance, his fingertips pressed together and poised beneath his chin.

She lifted an eyebrow at the sight of him not glued to his phone, dropping the bags down on the clean coffee table, eyeing him curiously. Sherlock remained completely motionless, his pale blue eyes not even flickering up to her as she crossed the room and, without so much as pausing, casually sat down on his lap, swinging her legs up over the top of the armrest with a cheeky smirk on her face, wrapping her arms around his neck. That_ did_ get his attention, making him blink and finally seem to come back to reality, giving her a mildly annoyed look.

"I think you've confused me for a chair, Amelia," he told her, his tone carrying a hint of his exasperation as he lowered his hands, his left falling on top of her bare knees, while the other came to rest on the armrest behind her back, her free hair tickling his hand.

"I would _never_ be so careless, Holmes," she replied easily, slowly, and very deliberately, snaking her right hand down from around his neck, letting her touch linger on his neck and past the collar of his white shirt, until her red polished fingertips found the second button of his shirt, toying with it lightly.

He sighed, fixing her with a small glare, "Amelia…"

"Yes?" she asked innocently, smirking as she leaned closer to him, her red lips pressing a feather light kiss to the side of his pale throat. His exasperated expression remained firmly in place as she drew back slightly, though the way that his heart rate had increased, his pupils dilating, and the very tiniest intake in breath told her that he was not nearly as unbothered by what she was doing then he might wish for her to think.

Sherlock caught her eyes and gave her a warning look, his eyes narrowing, "What are you doing?" he almost demanded.

"Seducing you, obviously. And it seems to be working, if you can't even deduce that".

"It's the middle of the day…"

She laughed, pressing another lingering kiss to his throat, before pressing another slightly higher, edging closer to his jaw, leaving red lipstick stains behind on his pale flesh, "So _stop_ me," she said with a hint of challenge, her breath ghosting across his skin, and she smirked triumphantly as his hand tightened over her knee, "Unless you don't _want_ to…" she continued in a sing-song tone, drawing back enough to give him a wicked smile.

Sherlock scowled darkly, his expression telling her that he certainly wasn't going to stop her, though he wasn't going to actually admit it aloud. To anyone else who might have walked into the living room and caught sight of the look he was giving her, they might have thought he was truly upset with her, his entire body seemed to be held tightly, the side of his neck littered by several lipstick stains, stark against his flesh, while her finger continued to ideally toy and twist the button on his shirt. Amelia merely lifted an eyebrow at him, her other hand lightly fiddling with the small hairs at the back of his neck, their faces three inches apart, though she had no intention of being the one to close the distance. She might have started this, but she was still going to expect him to play along.

"Amelia," he said with a forced firmness to his tone, his carefully controlled mask firmly in place, "We have work to do".

Amelia sighed loudly, rolling her eyes, "Sherlock, we_ always_ have work to do," she reminded him, privately wondering whether or not she had ever had a boyfriend in the past who had been able to resist her charms like he seemed to be able to do. She could tell that he was trying very hard not to give in, fighting back against the urge to submit to his basic desires and the emotions she was stirring in him, but even Sherlock Holmes could only resist for so long, he was only human, after all. She leaned even closer to him, brushing her nose against his, but she refrained from kissing him still, "And we're here, all by ourselves…I'm not suggesting we take off to Paris".

His eyes fluttered closed, her breath hitting his lips and she smirked widely to herself as she watched him lick them, the hand on her knee squeezing her tightly, while he only seemed to tense even more, as though fearing that if he allowed himself to relax, he wouldn't be able to stop from closing the distance between them. Oh, he was good at hiding it, but at the end of the day, he was a man. She laughed softly, daring to gently undo the button on his shirt, watching as his eyes snapped open and he fixed her with another attempt at a glare, though he still made little move to actually stop her. If he had really been trying to resist, he could have very easily simply rolled his eyes and picked her up, dumping her onto the sofa before going back to his thinking. He had done that once, just as they had first started trying to make this whole thing work and she had playfully sat on his lap, just to see how he might react. She had cracked up laughing and called him a 'tease' back then, but things had progressed quite significantly since then.

"Amelia, behave," he muttered, his lips barely moving as he kept his gaze intently fixed on her eyes, far to intently, if Amelia had to deduce, trying to prevent his own eyes from wondering, "Lestrade called while you were out," he went on, apparently still trying to ignore the way that her hand on his chest slowly slipped down, twisting the third button with a smirk on her lips, "He wants to see us tomorrow, apparently he thinks he's got just the sort of case we've been waiting for".

"Good," she said softly, her eyes on his as she undid the button, "I certainly look forward to it, Holmes, but…what does that have to do with today?" she lifted an eyebrow, bringing her face closer to his, her lips so close to his own, that he had to feel her own touching his as she said, "After all, that's tomorrows concern".

"I thought you would be more interested in solving the cases we already have, you did seem stressed about having clients waiting".

"We'll get to them," Amelia said carelessly, biting her lip very slightly. She almost laughed as his eyes did flicker down to her own lips at the gesture, before swiftly lifting back up to her gaze, "You can take the triple homicide off the list," she added with a cheeky smile, her hand pushing aside his shirt, splaying her hand against his firm chest. He couldn't quite hide the intake of breath at the touch. She lowered to a whisper, pressing her mouth to the corner of his mouth, "I solved it. There was a line at the checkout".

Sherlock released a sharp exhale, rolling his eyes, "Oh, for God's sake…" he huffed, right before he suddenly wrapped his right hand around her waist and tugged her closer to him, his lips firmly meeting hers.

Amelia smiled into the kiss, her fingernails scraping against his chest very slightly as she used her hand at the back of his neck to draw him even closer to her, his curls silky soft between her fingers. She took a shuddering breathe of air as he released her lips, only to press them against her throat, just as she had to him, only with more instance and hunger. She hoped he wouldn't leave a mark, she was too old to be trying to cover up love bites, but she couldn't bring herself to be overly concerned by it as she tilted her head back slightly to let him have more access, her hands tugging at his hair.

"I knew…that would get you," she laughed breathlessly, grabbing his chin and bringing his head back up to her, kissing him hard. Yes, she was very happy, indeed.

….

The next day, just before five o'clock in the afternoon, found Amelia sitting perched on the armrest of Sherlock's chair, while the curly haired detective sat in the seat beside her, back to his thinking as he sat with his fingers steepled together beneath his chin and with his camel dressing gown over his day clothing. She lightly tapped her black Louboutin heels on the floor, her legs bare as her white Gucci dress stopped just above her knees, a navy blue and red strip running around the waist, while a navy strip ran around the sleeves that came to her elbows, delicate gold and pearl buttons running along the cotton sleeves, matching her pearl studs. Her hair was pulled back in a French twist, while her polished nails lightly toyed with one of her earrings, her kohl rimmed eyes casting the open living door a slightly impatient look, waiting for Lestrade and John, who Sherlock had informed her once they had…finished, would also be joining them, since Mary had apparently given her okay. Finally, just on five, Lestrade's footsteps sounded on the stairs outside, and he appeared on the landing, peering into the living room to see them. Amelia lifted an eyebrow at him, her foot stilling.

"I'm not late am I?" Lestrade asked, frowning slightly as he checked his wristwatch, clearly picking up on Amelia's impatience.

"No," she shook her head, giving him a small smile, "Just very curious to hear about the case you have for us, Sherlock said you thought it was just what we'd been looking for," she nodded her head absently towards Sherlock, who didn't move an inch.

Lestrade went to reply, his eyes flickering towards Sherlock, but the sound of the front door downstairs closing caught both his and Amelia's attention. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, footsteps Amelia recognised easily as John's, just before the man himself came into view as he reached the top of the stairs, smiling slightly to himself and with a slight flush to his cheeks. She eyed him curiously, noting the way that his hand seemed to unknowingly touch his inner breast pocket where she knew he usually kept his phone. It was just a small brush of his hand; he might have been just brushing some lent off his jacket, but then why did he have that little smile on his lips and that faint pink hue to his cheeks. Something about it made her feel on edge, though she couldn't place her finger on what, exactly.

"Hey," Lestrade greeted him with a smile.

"Afternoon," John nodded, stepping into the living room. He gave Amelia a warm smile, which she returned, before shaking his head faintly at Sherlock's lack of acknowledgement, turning back to Lestrade, "Sherlock says you've got a good one, Greg".

"Oh, yeah," he agreed, his smile growing grim, though he seemed quite confidant.

"So let's hear it," Amelia said eagerly, "Sit down, and do tell us all about it," she gestured to the dining table chair, which seemed to almost always be left sitting out these days, facing the fireplace.

John settled himself comfortably in his old armchair, while Lestrade took a seat in the dining chair, clearing his throat, "It was David Welsborough's fiftieth birthday," he began as they listened intently, slipping a small notebook out of his pocket, flipping it open, "They threw a big birthday party at their country home, when during the early hours of the party, Mr Welsborough received a Skype call from their eldest son, Charlie. He was supposed to be out of the country, travelling around Tibet, and so he wasn't able to attend the party himself. Mr Welsborough stated that during the call, Charlie was having some signal issues, and they ended up losing the picture, but they could still hear one another…" Amelia frowned vaguely at that, eyeing Lestrade closely as he glanced at his notes, "During the brief conversation, Charlie asked his father to go outside and take a picture of a Power Ranger figuring stuck to the bonnet of Charlie's car, which was parked outside in the drive, trying to win a bet. Mr Welsborough went outside and took the photo, sending it to his son, but his son didn't reply back. He didn't hear back from Charlie at all after that call," he sighed heavily, looking back up to them, his expression growing grim, "A week later…"

"Yeah?" John prompted him as Lestrade trailed off. Amelia was still frowning, her eyes narrowed slightly on Lestrade.

He glanced between John and Amelia, "Something _really_ weird happens," he told them, making Sherlock smile, his eyes closed. Amelia shot him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, once again finding herself wishing she could peer into his mind…, "Drunk driver," he continued, pulling Amelia's attention back onto him, "He's totally smashed, the cops are chasing him, and he turns into the drive of the Welsborough house to try and get away. Unfortunately…" he grimaced slightly, "He ended up crashing straight into the back of Charlie's car. The crash must have broken the fuel line, because the next thing that happened was Charlie's car exploded in fireball…" Amelia winced slightly, though Lestrade wasn't finished with his story yet, "The drunk guy survived, they managed to pull him out, but when they put the fire out and examined the parked car…they found a body sitting in the driver's seat, or what was left of it".

Amelia blinked slightly, not having quite expected that, though it did make things rather interesting. Thoughtfully, she lightly tapped her fingers of her right hand on top of her knee, her legs crossed as she eyed Lestrade, considering everything he had told them thus far. It was obvious that something strange was going on with the Welsborough's son, Charlie; something about the whole Skype call didn't make sense to her. Why did the boy get his father to go out, during the night and during his own birthday party, just to take a picture of some toy stuck to the bonnet of his car? For a bet? That seemed a little odd to her, now if it was some sort of surprise, like the boy would suddenly jump out from behind the car or something, it would make more sense to her. Or…perhaps she was just trying to make this whole thing more clever then it ought to be, and the boy truly had been just trying to win a bet. But then there was the mysterious body, how did _that_ fit?

John leaned forward in his chair towards Lestrade, "Whose body?" he asked curiously, taking the words out of Amelia's mouth.

Lestrade looked at him, his expression grave, "Charlie Welsborough, the son".

He actually recoiled in his seat from him in confusion, "_What_?" he stared at him, startled, while Amelia sat up straighter, holding back the urge to make an 'Ooh,' noise, her mind positively buzzing. The body in the car being Charlie actually made a lot of sense, given what her mind had first jumped to.

"The son who was in Tibet," he nodded, his expression almost matching John's, "DNA all checks out. The night of the party, the car's empty, then a week later the dead bodies found at the wheel," Sherlock, his eyes still closed, laughed, his face full of delight as Amelia settled on smiling very faintly, her own enjoyment of the case slightly tarnished by the knowledge that a young man had died. Lestrade glanced at them, looking far from surprised by their reactions, "Yeah, I thought it'd tickle you," he commented with a pointed look at Sherlock.

"You were quite right about this being an excellent case, Lestrade," Amelia said softly, giving him a pleased look, her mouth still slightly turned up at the corner of her red lips, "Of course, it's also rather horrible that someone so young, only just starting out in life, ended up dying, but…still, it should be very promising".

"Well, I'm glad you like it," he muttered, shaking his head slightly, because of course only Sherlock Holmes or Amelia Wilson would find the idea of a murder something enjoyable.

"Have you got a lab report?" John asked, seeming to have recovered from his previous shock.

"Yeah," he nodded with a glance over towards John, before reaching for his briefcase, which had placed on the floor by his chair. He pulled it up onto his lap and flipped the black leather flap open, reaching inside it, "Charlie Welsborough's the son of a Cabinet minister…" he explained, and John made a silent 'Oh' with his lips, nodding in understanding as Lestrade fished out a cream coloured folder, "…so I'm under a lot of pressure to get results".

Amelia smiled sympathetically, though inwardly she found herself feeling quite lucky, once again reminded strongly why she hadn't gone into the police force all those years ago when she had first considered it. The idea of having to follow everything by the book, wait for the right paperwork and warrants to come in just to check through someone's rubbish, constantly having to report back to those older and more senor then you, even if they were complete idiots without any idea about investigating a crime scene properly. No, she so wouldn't have made it through her first day of training, and aside from that, the uniforms. Really not her style, she wouldn't be able to wear her heels. Private detective work might not have been exactly all that she had hoped for when she had first started out, but it was a massive improvement on being in the police in her mind.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, narrowing slightly; "Who cares about that?" he scoffed slightly, earning himself a mildly exasperated look from Lestrade. He didn't even seem to notice, staring thoughtfully over the top of John's head, "Tell me about the seats".

"The _seats_?" John frowned, giving him a confused look, accepting a sheet of paper that Lestrade handed him from within the folder.

"Yes. The cars seats".

"Ah, right…" Amelia nodded slowly to herself, giving the side of Sherlock's face a thoughtful look. She thought she understood what he wanted to check, and it would certainly fit with her own theory about the boy having merely been intending to surprise his father during his birthday party, only for the boy to end up somehow dying before he could do so, his body remaining undisturbed in the car until being discovered in the wreckage of the fire, because how else was it possible for Charlie's body to be in the car if it hadn't already been there the entire time? The only real question in her mind, right now, was whether or not the boy had been murdered, and if so why? His father's position? Debts? Or was it something less sinister and just a tragic accident? She turned her gaze back onto John and Lestrade, finding them both eyeing her curiously, "The forensics in regards to the seats could be very telling, in fact, I think it might just confirm how Charlie's body ended up in the car in the first place".

Lestrade regarded her dubiously, "What, from the car seats?" he said, holding the file out towards them, Sherlock plucking it out of his hand and flipping it open.

She sighed slightly, giving him a look, though she refined from saying anything as she peered over the top of Sherlock's arm, her eyes quickly moving down the forensic report, quickly finding the results of a sample that was taken from the burnt remains of the driver's seat. She almost smiled in victory at the report's findings, feeling rather pleased with herself that her theory seemed to be only growing more credible with the evidence presented before them.

"Made of vinyl…" Sherlock read the report, his eyebrows lifting very slightly, "Two different types of vinyl present," his eyes flickered up from the report and he glanced at Amelia, who smiled very faintly. He rolled his eyes slightly, as though he could see how smug she was feeling, though even he couldn't quite hide the very slight upturn of the corners of his lips, before his expression cleared and he looked back across to Lestrade, fixing him with a thoughtful look, holding the file back out to him, "Was it his own car?"

"Yeah," Lestrade replied, taking the folder back from Sherlock, slipping it back inside his briefcase, "He was a student".

"Some students have flash cars," Amelia commented lightly, "My dad bought me a BMW when I was accepted into Oxford, but if the seats were only vinyl, that does make matter's clearer".

He gave her a blank look, "Why?"

"Vinyl's cheaper than leather," Sherlock said distractedly, looking thoughtfully off towards the fireplace, while Amelia nodded in agreement, smiling slightly at the utterly bemused looks on John and Lestrade's faces as they stared back at herself and Sherlock, clearly not following along in the slightest. Personally, she found it rather amusing.

"Er…" Lestrade blinked slowly, shaking his head, "Yeah, right".

"Remember that he was a student," Amelia told him patiently, giving him a small smile, realising that the poor man truly had no idea what was so important about that. As much as she did enjoy watching the confused and sometimes amazed looks on people's faces when she or Sherlock managed to spot something that no one else had, it wasn't much fun if you were the only person in on the joke, and she did actually want others to become more observant through their exposure to her own methods, "His father was a Cabinet minister, meaning that he came from a wealthy family, wealthy enough to allow him to go off on a gap year to travel," she went on, giving him an encouraging look, "But Charlie himself was still just a uni student, his car was simple and old, meaning that he likely hadn't come into his trust fund yet, so…" she trailed off purposely and waited for a moment, sighing as Lestrade merely stared blankly at her, "Oh, never mind," she muttered, shaking her head as she realised that he really wasn't grasping a word of what she was practically spoon feeding to him.

"_Really_, Amelia?" Sherlock pulled his gaze off the fireplace, giving her an almost amused look, his eyes practically asking her why she even bothered.

She sighed again, "Oh, shut up, you," she muttered, asking herself the same thing.

"There's something else," John said suddenly, peering intently down at the loose piece of paper that Lestrade had handed him before, drawing all of their attention onto him.

"Yes?" Sherlock lifted an eyebrow, looking expectant.

He sat forward slightly in his armchair, frowning down at the paper, "According to this, Charlie Welsborough had already been dead for a week," he informed them, looking up from the document with a confused look written across his features.

Amelia's eyes lit up, excitement flooding her body, just that one piece of evidence providing her with all the proof that she needed to be completely certain that her theory was right, Charlie must have decided to surprise his father and come home for his birthday, but something obviously went wrong…her excitement diminished slightly, her brow creasing slightly. The question still remained, murder or tragic accident? It wasn't about how the boy's body had come to be in the car, though she suspected that John and Lestrade likely still thought it was, no, to her it was trying to determine how the boy died, that was the true puzzle here for her. She shook her head, glancing at Sherlock, who looked positively delighted, his lips twisting into a smile. She couldn't help her own lips from twitching into a small smirk.

"Oh, this _is_ a good one," he grinned, his entire face suddenly becoming so animated, throwing Lestrade a quick look, "Is it my birthday? You want help?" he asked quickly, his eyebrows lifting as he eyed him.

Lestrade almost seemed pained, drawing in a large breath as he looked back across to Sherlock and Amelia, "Yes, please," he nodded.

"One condition".

He blinked slightly, looking vaguely confused, "Okay".

"Take all the credit," Sherlock practically ordered, causing John's head to snap up in surprise, staring at Sherlock, while even Lestrade couldn't hold back how startled he was, his mouth slipping open very slightly. Amelia, on the other hand, smiled faintly, clasping her hands together on top of her crossed legs as Sherlock continued, shrugging, "It gets boring if we just solve them all".

"Yeah, you_ say_ that," Lestrade frowned at him, waving a hand over towards John, "But then John blogs about it and you two…" he gestured between Amelia and Sherlock as he spoke, "…get all the credit anyway".

Amelia leaned back slightly with a frown of her own, rather taken aback by his words as she realised that perhaps Lestrade did make a rather good point, she supposed that it wasn't really a good thing for his reputation if everyone knew that half of his cases were being solved by them, since John's blog still seemed to only be growing in popularity with each case that they solved. Of course, the hype surrounding the three of them had died down somewhat, she no longer feared being snapped walking down the street or worried about some unflattering picture of her during her morning jog ending up on the front page, but every now and again they would still find themselves drawing the media's eye, usually after a new case was published on John's blog, and of course they still gained quite a bit of public interest from people who recognised them out on the street.

John laughed, throwing the detectives an amused look as he held the report back across to Lestrade, "Yeah, he's got a point," he commented, earning a quick look from Sherlock, while Amelia sighed.

"You can hardly blame_ us_ for that, Lestrade," she shook her head, giving him a mildly annoyed look, "I mean honestly, blame John, if you must…" she ignored John's offended huff, while Lestrade busied himself with accepting the offered report, "He's the one who writes our cases up, after all".

"Gee, thanks, Amelia," John rolled his eyes, falling back into his seat, "Throw me right under the bus, why don't you?"

"Which makes me look like some kind of…" Lestrade continued as though no one had spoken, apparently having been waiting to discuss the subject for quite some time now, if this little rant was anything to go by. He paused midsentence, struggling slightly to find the right word, shoving the paper back into the folder with the rest of the cases documentation, slightly harsher then truly needed, "…prima donna who insists on getting credit for something he didn't do!"

John lifted an eyebrow and looked back across to Sherlock, who was staring at Lestrade with a slightly startled expression, "Oh, I think you've hit a sore spot, Sherlock," he remarked, almost seeming to be amused.

Sherlock blinked and shook his head very slightly, clearly having no idea what he might have said to have upset the Detective Inspector so much. Amelia reached up to rub her forehead, nodding warily, what sympathy she might have felt towards Lestrade now slightly overshadowed by the dull, threatening pulse behind her left eye that warned of an impending headache.

Lestrade shoved the folder back into his briefcase, still speaking, "…like I'm some credit junkie!" he huffed, throwing his hands up in the air in annoyance.

John nodded slowly, not looking away from Sherlock, "_Definitely_ a sore spot".

Amelia narrowed her eyes on him, "Stop enjoying this, Watson," she said warningly, earning a small smile from John, who was apparently far from alarmed by her tone or glare, though she imagined that after being threatened by the more insane Moriarty, being threatened by her was probably as intimidating as a kitten.

Lestrade gestured between Amelia and Sherlock, completely ignoring the side conversation going on during his ranting, "So you _two_ take all the glory, thanks," he told them, shaking his head firmly.

"Okay," Sherlock said with a slightly bewildered expression, lifting his left hand up slightly from where it was resting on his armrest, almost in surrender.

"…thanks all the same".

Amelia, however, was eyeing Lestrade with a knowing smirk, "What's her name, Lestrade?" she asked suddenly, and Lestrade actually froze, his eyes snapping over to her, his mouth slipping open in a look caught between shock and, dare she say it, panic?

"I'm…I'm sorry?" he blinked slowly, clearing his throat awkwardly, shifting as John and Sherlock looked at him curiously, too.

"The_ girl_, Lestrade," she repeated lightly, her tone perfectly casual, though she was still eyeing him with a glimmer of knowing amusement. Her lips were now stretched into a wide smile, leaning slightly towards him, "Oh, come on, don't try to deny it. Why would you suddenly be _so_ concerned about looking like a 'credit junkie,' as you dubbed yourself, if there wasn't a mystery female you were trying to cosy up to," she laughed slightly as Lestrade cleared his throat awkwardly, "You've never expressed being bothered about it before".

"I…" Lestrade tugged roughly at his coat, looking horribly uncomfortable, while John raised an eyebrow at him and Sherlock smirked, observing the man before them with a calculating look in his eyes. Lestrade shot Amelia a dark look, one that might have made anyone else suddenly quite worried about finding themselves inundated with a number of mysterious fines, but Amelia merely smiled mildly apologetically and shrugged. He huffed after a moment, "_Look_…" he said with a forced tone, giving Amelia a glare, "Forget about my love life and just solve the bloody case, will you? It's driving me nuts".

Amelia struggled to hold back a laugh and held up her hands, giving him a mock innocent look, ruined completely by the smirk she wore. John was laughing quietly, apparently enjoying watching Lestrade be on the receiving end of one of Amelia's relationship deductions, having had his fair share of them back when he had been dating. Sherlock, in the past, would have made an offhand remark or two, usually one that was very embarrassing and far too personal for someone to be commenting on so bluntly, but Amelia was worse. She seemed to take great pleasure in completely throwing you under the bus when it came to romantic relationships and watching you squirm, all the while smirking with those blood red lips and dark rimmed, glittering eyes.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, though his lips were still slightly lifted in a knowing smile, "Anything you say, Giles," he said with a drawling tone. John and Amelia instantly sobered, giving him a sharp look, while Lestrade looked across to him with an exasperated gaze. Sherlock caught sight of their expressions and broke into a wide smile, "Just kidding".

Amelia sighed and shook her head, while Lestrade gave Sherlock a lingering look, before turning to continue packing his documentation and file away in his briefcase. Sherlock glanced back to John and Amelia, mouthing to them:

'What is it?"

'Greg,' Amelia and John both mouthed, Amelia not quite daring to even try whispering it in his ear, when the room was so silent right now. Lestrade wasn't even making enough noise with his papers to conceal a whisper right now, though if she hissed it low enough, maybe…

Sherlock, sadly, still seemed totally confused and frowned deeply, mouthing: 'What?'

John looked frustrated and turned hopelessly to Amelia, apparently giving up on trying to get the message across to Sherlock and leaving it to Amelia. She could understand his logic, she was sitting in the perfect position to do it, perhaps if they were any other couple her leaning close to Sherlock might not seem odd, but because it was them…well, Lestrade would probably take a chance to try and get back at her for her remark about his love life. She sighed and edged closer to Sherlock, shooting Lestrade a quick look to check that his head was bent over his bag, before leaning close to his ear.

"_Greg_, Sherlock," she whispered in his ear, barely above a hiss, before quickly leaning back and casually smoothing a hand down her front, casting Lestrade another discreet look to make sure he hadn't noticed anything. Thankfully, the man seemed very focused on his bag, perhaps still trying to avoid any more talk about his love life, which he feared Amelia might try to bring up again now that their more serious discussion was over with.

Sherlock made a faint 'Oh' noise, which did gain Lestrade's attention, his head snapping up to look around at the three of them with a slightly puzzled look. Sherlock hastily dropped his gaze onto his knees and cleared his throat, while Amelia suddenly became quite focused on her dresses hemline, tugging it over her bare knee with more concentration then truly required. Lestrade, being the fantastic detective that he was, didn't fail to notice any of this and instantly shot a suspicious look across to John, the only one perhaps acting perfectly normal.

"It's obvious, though, isn't it?" John said hastily, trying to distract the other man, "What happened?"

"John, you amaze me," Sherlock commented with surprise, lifting his head to stare across to John, lifting his eyebrows curiously. Amelia blinked slightly, eyeing John with interest, "You know what happened?"

"Not a clue," he instantly shook his head, gesturing towards Sherlock, "It's just you normally say that at this point," he gave him a faint, almost sarcastic smile and clasped his hands together again on his crossed knee.

Sherlock returned his smile, though it looked slightly to tight, "Mm," he hummed, while Amelia smiled discreetly and ducked her head, "Well, then…" he dropped the smile and climbed onto his feet, heading towards the landing door, pulling his dressing gown off on the way, "…let's help solve your little problem, Greg," he reached the door and hung his dressing gown up on the hook beside his black blazer, reaching for it.

Amelia barely held back a laugh at the look of shock that filled Lestrade's face, rising along with him and John. She caught John's eye and had to quickly busy herself with moving to squeeze past them to head for the door herself before she could crack up laughing completely, seeing the innocently surprised expression he wore, for Lestrade's sake. She gave into the amused smile that had threatened to twist her lips as she came to stand next to Sherlock, who met her eyes briefly and smirked, reaching for her own black Gucci belted coat. John was a far better actor then most people gave him credit for.

"You hear that?" Lestrade was saying happily to John from behind them, Amelia shot Sherlock a pointed look, pulling her coat on. He sounded positively thrilled that Sherlock had seemingly learnt his name; it was both sad and rather cute.

"I know!" John laughed, playing the role of supportive friend very nicely.

Do not look, do not look…Amelia practically had to repeat it in her head, biting her bottom lip as she belted her coat around her middle and reached for her handbag, a jewelled bee sparkling in the afternoon light streaming in through the windows. If she looked behind her to see John and Lestrade's expressions, she would burst out laughing and that would not be very helpful right now, Lestrade was happy thinking Sherlock had learnt his name at long last. She wasn't going to burst that bubble, not yet, she was positive Sherlock would do that soon enough. Instead she turned to follow after Sherlock, leaving the room and stepping out onto the landing, waiting for the other two men to catch up.

"So how's it going, then, fatherhood?" Lestrade asked from behind her, stepping out of the living room door, John trailing along behind him.

"Oh, good, great! Yeah, amazing".

"Getting any sleep?"

"Christ, no," John grimaced, coming to a stop in the middle of the landing, next to Amelia, while Sherlock tugged his blazer on over his white dress shirt.

Lestrade smiled very slightly and paused at the top of the stairs, looking back over the three of them, "You're at the beck and call of a screaming, demanding baby," he commented with an amused look at John, "Woken up at all hours to obey his every whim…" he turned to look pointedly at Sherlock, who stopped briefly in buttoning up his blazer around his middle, staring blankly back at Lestrade, "Must feel _very_ different".

Amelia laughed; unable to help it as she took one glance Sherlock's completely baffled face, evidently completely clueless about just what Lestrade was talking about. She shook her head, lightly patting his arm as she went to follow after Lestrade, who headed down the stairs, while John tried to be a little more discreet about his amusement, lowering his head and smiling as he trailed along behind Amelia. Sherlock, however, lingered for a moment longer on the landing, watching them go.

"I'm sorry, what?" he questioned blankly, finishing with is buttons, falling into step behind John.

"Oh, incredibly different," Amelia agreed lightly, her tone lifted with humour, pretending not to hear Sherlock behind her, "Do tell us more, John," she threw him a grin over her shoulder, one hand lightly resting on the stairs banister, lest she accidently trip and kill herself walking down the stairs in these heels…to be fair, she wouldn't be to upset about that, she l_oved _these heels.

"Yes, well…" John smiled, giving her a knowing look, "You know how it is. All you do is clean up their mess; pat them on the head…"

"Are you three having a little joke?" Sherlock's voice drifted down from behind Amelia, who could easily hear the frown in his voice. He was still completely oblivious, wasn't he?

Amelia barely held back a snigger, "Making sure they've slept through the night," she added, nodding in mock understanding, giving John a wink over her shoulder, "Oh, and don't even get me started on the battle to get them to eat a full, balanced meal. The temper tantrums…"

"What are you even _talking_ about, Amelia? Have you completely lost your mind?"

"_Never _a word of thanks," John continued, ignoring Sherlock's annoyed exclamation, while Amelia laughed faintly, "Can't even tell people's faces apart".

"This is a joke, isn't it?"

Amelia actually had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself from bursting out into giggles, hearing the still completely confused, puzzled tone in his voice, stepping down off the last step and into the entrance hallway of Baker Street, still walking behind Lestrade towards the front door. Oh, this was fun; it was so rare that they managed to find something that Sherlock was completely oblivious to, though she did feel a tiny bit bad for teasing him when he couldn't help missing the social cues that most people could pick up on easily.

"Then it's all, 'Ooh, aren't you clever?'" Lestrade went on mockingly, glancing back behind him to where Sherlock was following, frowning in confusion, giving him an amused smile, "'You're so clever!'"

John grinned and moved to grab his jacket from off the coat hooks lining the wall by the doorway, pulling it down, while Sherlock paused at the base of the stairs and eyed them closely.

"Is it about me?"

Lestrade glanced back over to him, before turning back towards John, "I think he needs winding," he commented knowingly, pretending as though Sherlock hadn't spoken.

Sherlock merely stared at them, frowning deeply in pure confusion. Amelia chocked back a laugh; she could practically hear his mind running over everything that they had said the past few minutes, trying to figure out exactly what was going on…judging by that little wrinkle between his eyes, he still couldn't figure it out. It was almost adorable, she had to admit that she was relishing this moment a little too much.

"You know," John smiled again, turning around to face Lestrade, pulling his jacket on in the process, "I think that really might be it".

"No," Sherlock shook his head, his expression clearing, giving a slightly shrug, "Don't get it".

Amelia pattered his arm as he came to join her by the door, Lestrade laughing and leading John out of the front door, "Never mind, Sherlock," she told him reassuringly, laughter lacing her words, "I still love you".

He fixed her with a look, "That doesn't fill me with confidence, Amelia," he replied dryly, moving past her to grab his coat and scarf off the hooks.

She simply laughed.

….

The Welsborough's country estate was really quite lovely, set out in the country side, not far from the middle of the city, but still far enough away to feel peaceful and relaxing in the country air. The house itself was surrounded by fields, dotted with aged trees and relatively well maintained hedges, while a long, gravel driveway snaked itself between two fields, leading up to the house itself, which appeared to be a Georgian era manor house, a handsome porch welcoming guests to the front door.

Amelia couldn't help admiring the home as they approached it, walking up the driveway, stone crunching beneath their feet…she was forced to walk rather awkwardly in her heels, inwardly cringing with each footstep. Today wasn't a great day to be wearing designer heels on gravel. In fact, she had so much trouble trying to keep herself walking mainly on the toes of her heels, lest she scratch her heels to badly, that Sherlock had actually offered her his elbow to cling to for balance, rolling his eyes in the process. He could roll his eyes all he wanted; Amelia cared far more about her shoes then to be too proud to turn down that offer.

"Charlie's family were pretty cut up about it," Lestrade said as he looked across to Sherlock and Amelia, his briefcase swinging in his hand as they walked, "As you'd expect, so go easy on them, yeah?" he gave Sherlock a pointed look.

"You know me," Sherlock shrugged his left shoulder carelessly.

Amelia caught Lestrade's eye, giving him a faint smile as the other man returned her look with a look verging on dread. Walking on her right side, John's phone suddenly began ringing and he quickly fished it out of his pocket, answering it.

"Yeah," Lestrade sighed, breaking his gaze with Amelia and turning to look straight ahead, his mouth pulled into a tight, grim line. Sherlock, however, was almost smirking, almost as though he knew exactly what his companions were thinking and found it highly amusing, for some reason.

"Hey, hello!" Mary's voice called from John's phone, Amelia's eyes flickering over to the slim, black device held in John's palm.

"I'm sure it will be fine," she turned her attention back onto Sherlock, giving him a wary look as he turned his smirk onto her. She winced, resisting the urge to grimace, "…I really, _really _hope".

He wasn't even going to pretend to behave, was he? Great.

"Got 'em, don't worry," John was saying over the phone, earning himself a quick frown from Sherlock, while Amelia sighed and glanced over to him, too, curious, "Pampers, the cream you can't get from Boots…"

"Yeah, never mind that," Mary interrupted him, sounding rather distracted, "Where are you? At the dead boy's house?"

"Yeah".

"And what do _they _think? Any theories?"

John glanced across to Sherlock and Amelia, who lifted her eyebrows and smiled slightly, feeling rather flattered, "Uh, well…" he looked back down at his phone, frowning slightly, "I texted you the details".

"Yeah, two different types of vinyl".

Sherlock threw the phone a sharp look and suddenly lunged at it…causing Amelia to slip slightly in the gravel and need to tighten her hold on his arm, giving him dirty glare. He ignored it, of course, busy turning his attention onto the phone he now grasped in the palm of his gloved left hand, Mary looking back up at them from the small screen, lightly rocking Rosie in her arms as she stood in her kitchen, seemingly looking down at them from wherever she had propped her phone. Likely the kitchen table, if Amelia had to guess from the background and angle.

"Hey!" John exclaimed, throwing Sherlock an indignant look at suddenly having his phone snatched from his grasp.

"_Seriously_, Sherlock?" Amelia huffed at the same time, purposely keeping her hold on his arm tight, "These shoes cost more than our rent!"

Sherlock acted as though he heard none of this, of course, though judging by the slight smirk on Mary's face, the other woman seemed to find it funny, "How do you know about that?" he demanded down the camera, narrowing his eyes on the screen.

"Oh, you'd be amazed at what a receptionist picks up," Mary replied mysteriously, leaning down closer towards the camera, dropping her voice to a dramatic whisper, "They know _everything_!"

Amelia grinned, peering over Sherlock's arm, getting herself in view of the camera, "Isn't that just women in general, Mary?" she asked innocently, and Mary laughed, lifting Rosie slightly higher in her arms, the baby cooing quietly as her little hands grabbed at her mother's short curls.

Sherlock's eyes flickered over to Amelia, a very faint hint of fondness in his gaze, before he turned back to focus on the camera, "Solved it, then?" he lifted an eyebrow at her.

She smiled, "I'm working on it".

"Oh, Mary," he mockingly shook his head, smirking, "Motherhood's slowing you down".

"Pig!"

"Keep trying," he said lightly, his smirk firmly in place, handing the phone back off to John.

Amelia laughed and loosened her iron hold on Sherlock's arm, meeting his gaze as his smirk softened around the edges, growing into something closer to a proper smile, full of amusement, that lightened his eyes and made him look so much more relaxed. It felt so nice to have someone else who seemed to see through Sherlock's nonsense like she could, even John still seemed to have trouble doing that the way that Amelia or Mary did. Mary just seemed to accept Sherlock exactly as he came, seeing his humour where others might have seen an insult. She didn't loosen her grasp on his arm, even as they stepped onto the smooth stone surface of the porch and Sherlock didn't try to pull away.

"So, what about it, then?" Mary asked, her voice sounding slightly softer now that Sherlock no longer had the phone. Amelia felt Sherlock's footsteps slow very slightly and she glanced at him curiously, finding him peering upwards, towards where a motion sensor light was positioned above the front door, only it seemed to be damaged, still turned on in the middle of the day and a crack running across it. She eyed it as they stepped over the threshold of the front door after Lestrade, filing that little bit of data away for later, "What, an empty car that suddenly has a week-old corpse in it?" she was still saying over the phone, while they moved further inside the entrance hall of the house, "And what are you gonna call this one?"

Sherlock instantly shot a dark look back towards the phone, bringing them to a stop just by the base of the grand, wooden staircase at the end of the entrance hallway, the walls painted a dark yellow and littered with very old oil painters of no doubt long dead relatives and pretty landscapes. Amelia broke into a grin and dropped her hold on Sherlock, her eyes moving eagerly between her friends. It would never not be amusing how much Sherlock pretended to hate John's titles.

"Ooh, the…" John paused briefly, considering it as he looked towards Amelia, "Uh, _The Ghost Driver_".

"Hmm, mysterious," Amelia nodded approvingly, earning herself a rather pleased smile from John, while Sherlock merely scowled deeper, fixing her with an exasperated look, "Perhaps a little creepy, too, kind of sounds a bit like an urban legend, which should appeal to the younger audience we've been getting lately…"

"Amelia," Sherlock huffed, "Don't encourage him," he turned to level his annoyed look on John, who looked rather amused, "Don't give it a title, John".

"People like the title," John tried, sighing.

"I _hate _the titles".

"Well,_ I_ love them," Amelia cut in sharply, nudging Sherlock's side with a pointed look. He didn't even try to pretend as though it had any effect on him. She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest, "Can't you just let John write his blog the way he wants to write it, Holmes? If people like it, what does it matter?"

John nodded and gestured with his free hand not holding his phone towards Amelia, "Give the people what they want," he added knowingly.

"No, never do that," Sherlock replied at once, his head snapping back around to frown at John, "People are stupid".

John and Amelia stared back at him, neither of them looking very happy.

"Um, _some_ people," Mary said pointedly, reminding them that she was still very much there with them…well, from afar, anyway.

Sherlock looked mildly frustrated and leaned towards the phone as John turned it around to face the detectives, showing Mary looking back up at them with Rosie still in her arms, giving them a look, "_All _people are stupid…" he repeated firmly, before pausing, his expression lightening, "_Most _people," he amended under Amelia's stern gaze, straightening.

Amelia didn't miss the way that John turned his phone back around to face him, giving Mary a little wink and smiling, before ending the call and tucking the phone back in his pocket. She struggled to hold back a cooing noise, just barely; instead she tried to be serious as she turned her attention back onto Lestrade, who was already speaking.

"Bizarre enough, though, isn't it, to be them?" Lestrade waved his hand towards Amelia and Sherlock, who eyed him slightly, eyes narrowed. He smiled slightly, "I mean, it's right up your stresses".

"Charming, Lestrade," Amelia said dryly, while Sherlock simply settled on giving him a very unimpressed look, before turning on his heel and walking away from them. She went to follow after him, ignoring the amused looks she could feel Lestrade and John giving them, heading towards a white wooden door off to the side of the hallway that had a man in a nice suit standing outside it. Silently, he moved to open the door for them as they neared and they all filed inside the large, oval shaped lounge inside.

The walls were painted a dull, dark reddish colour and a large ornate rug covered the floorboards in the middle of the room, a large Chesterfield sofa and two matching armchairs were positioned in the middle of the room, facing each other, and it also happened to be where a middle aged couple were sitting. They both rose as they entered, their faces tense and pale from grief.

"Mr and Mrs Welsborough," Sherlock greeted them politely, if a little quickly for a normal greeting, reaching out to first shake the wife's hand, before swiftly shaking the husband's, "I really am most terribly sorry to hear about your daughter…"

"_Son_, Sherlock," Amelia corrected quietly, giving the couple an apologetic look.

"Son," he corrected himself instantly, releasing the husband's hand and stepping back with a slight tightening of his lips at his slip.

Amelia shook both Mr and Mrs Welsborough's hands, giving them a sombre look, "Our deepest sympathises for you loss, Mr and Mrs Welsborough," she said gravely, stepping back next to Sherlock and John.

"Mr and Mrs Welsborough," Lestrade began, while the couple continued to give Sherlock a slightly wary look, clearly having caught his slip, "This is Mr Sherlock Holmes and Miss Amelia Wilson".

"Thank you very much for coming," Mr Welsborough nodded to them, wrapping his arm around his wife's back, his face drawn, "We've heard a great deal about you. If anyone can throw any light into this darkness, surely it will be you".

"We're very grateful to you for allowing us into your home during this terrible time," Amelia told them, giving them a bracing smile, "I think I can speak not only for myself, but my partners…" she gestured to John and Sherlock as she spoke, "When I say that we will do everything that we can to try and bring closure to this tragedy, Mr and Mrs Welsborough, with as little inconvenience into your grief as possible," she really, really hoped that she was right about that, her eyes lingering slightly longer on the side of Sherlock's face, hoping he would keep to her word and not do something to completely destroy any shred of professionalism, "Sherlock?" she cleared her throat, giving him a warning look as he turned towards her.

Sherlock met her eyes and gave her a rather forced smile, telling her that he knew exactly what it was that she was trying to silently tell him, "Yes, indeed," he agreed, his voice smooth and completely serious, but it still made Amelia narrow her eyes very slightly…she could practically hear the eye roll in his tone, even if he didn't do the gesture outwardly. He turned back towards the couple, "Well, I believe that I…" he glanced off to the side of the room, his voice trailing off slowly, before he turned back towards whatever had caught his eye, "…can…"

Amelia frowned and looked at him, his words completely trailing off, seemingly becoming focused on something else entirely. She didn't even think he was even paying attention to anything else right now, not even when Mr Welsborough began speaking, oblivious to whatever was going on with the curly haired detective.

"But Charlie was our whole world, Mr Holmes, Miss Wilson," he said to them, his expression etched with sadness even speaking of his son, "I…"

Amelia tried hard to listen to the man before them, speaking of his son, the very son that they were supposed to be trying to figure out exactly how he ended up dying so suddenly. But try as she might to concentrate on listening to Mr Welsborough, she couldn't help throwing Sherlock another frown, finding him still completely entrapped by something else on the other side of the room, his eyes narrowed on it, wearing a look of complete concentration on his features. She tried to follow his gaze and found a rounded, polished table sitting proudly before one of the large windows, covered by framed pictures and a small figurine of a woman.

She felt her eyebrows lift slightly at the shrine to Margaret Thatcher, a picture clearly on display of the woman herself in a blue dress, while another picture frame held a photograph of a young Mr Welsborough smiling as he stood beside the woman, while behind them an even larger frame held an invitation to a reception to 10 Downing Street, sent by Thatcher, during her time in office as Prime Minister. There was even a small china plate with Thatcher's face painted on the middle of it sitting on a small stand at the front of the table. However, as much as the shrine to Thatcher was…_interesting_, it was the leather cover on top of the table that really caught Amelia's eyes, noticing that it looked slightly scratched and marked in the very middle of the table, between the photos, as though something rectangle in shape had once sat there, but had since been removed, forcibly, perhaps, judging by the marks. That was odd, _very_ odd, she thought as she frowned at the table, but _why_ was it so odd?

"Sherlock?" John's voice drifted through the air, and Amelia blinked slowly, her gaze still glued to the table, "Amelia?"

"Mr Holmes?" Mr Welsborough spoke up, sounding slightly confused, "Miss Wilson?"

Amelia almost jumped, suddenly remembering herself and why they were there in the first place, her head snapping away from the table with a flash of embarrassment at having been caught completely ignoring the grief stricken clients that had specifically requested them to help them. That was totally and completely unprofessional of them, wincing slightly as she found the Welsborough's eyeing herself and Sherlock, while even John and Lestrade were watching them with concern. Beside her, Sherlock whipped back towards the couple, seeming far less caught off guard then Amelia.

"Sorry," he said to them, perfectly calm, if a little wider eyed than normal, "You were saying?"

"Well," Mr Welsborough glanced at his wife, "Charlie was our whole world, Mr Holmes, Miss Wilson. I…" as he spoke, Sherlock looked back over towards the table, nodding absently, while Amelia forcibly made sure to listen this time, "…I don't think we'll ever get over this".

"No," he said indifferently, his eyes fixed back on the table, "Shouldn't think so".

Amelia closed her eyes tightly as the Welsborough's looked sharply at him, startled by his tone. He didn't notice, of course, frowning vaguely at the table.

"For _God's _sake…" Amelia murmured under her breathe, almost wishing the ground would open up beneath them and swallow them _both _up, right now. She opened her eyes and gave the couple an apologetic look, "I'm so sorry, Mr and Mrs Welsborough, my colleague didn't mean that to sound so blunt, I assure you. Neither of us could possibly imagine what it must be like to…"

Sherlock suddenly drew in a long breathe and turned back towards the couple, "Will you excuse us a moment?" he said, cutting off Amelia, who stopped midsentence to stare at him as he shocked her even more by grabbing her elbow lightly, giving the couple a distracted look, "We just…" he turned and began to guide Amelia over towards the table, Amelia to surprised by the fact that he was actually touching her in front of clients to even try to stop him.

He still didn't let go of her elbow, even when he brought them to a stop before the table with the photographs proudly displayed, staring distractedly down at it. She sighed to herself, silently hoping that this was the worst thing he was going to do in front of the Welsborough's, before turning her attention onto the table, too. From up close she could see that the scratchers in the table were even deeper then she had thought, fresh, too, by the looks of them.

"I'll just, um…" John said awkwardly from behind them, clearing his throat as he came to stand next to Amelia, his hands clasped behind his back, "Now what's wrong?" he asked them quietly.

"Something is…odd," Amelia replied softly, frowning down at the table, trying to figure out why on Earth this table, those scratches, specifically, seemed to compel her so much when she ought to be focusing on a boy's death and his grieving parents. Why was she staring at a bloody table? But yet…she still couldn't bring herself to turn away and ignore the sense that there was something important staring her in the face, screaming on mute. It was so frustrating, made all the worse by the fact that Sherlock seemed to be having a similar struggle right now, too.

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed in agreement, his gaze fixed on the table, "Just…'By the pricking of my thumb'".

John's head snapped around to them, looking between them as Amelia nodded distractedly, "Seriously?" he scoffed after a moment, "You, Sherlock? I mean, Amelia, maybe…"

Amelia blinked absently, her eyes flickering over to him, "I don't know if I ought to be offended by that or not," she commented lightly, her attention already back on the table.

"Intuitions are not to be ignored, John," Sherlock said sternly, giving him a sharp look, before turning back to the table, eyes narrowed, "They represent data processed too fast for the conscious mind to comprehend, proven all the more by the fact that Amelia also noticed that something was off".

"Again, I don't know if I should be offended or not," Amelia muttered, her eyes running over the photos, but again she kept being pulled back to those scratches.

Sherlock didn't answer her, though his eyes did flicker across to her briefly and the corner of his lips lifted, before his expression cleared once more and he turned back around to face the room, pointing to the middle of the table, "What is this?" he called to the Welsborough's, who were now sitting down on their sofa.

"Oh, it's a sort of shrine, I suppose, really," Mr Welsborough informed them, chuckling slightly as he rose from the sofa, walking over to them, looking at the table, "Bit of a fan of Mrs T," he smiled, rather proudly as he glanced back up to the detectives, "Big hero of mine when I was getting started".

Amelia forced a polite smile, "Oh, how…nice," she said with a barely concealed grimace to her tone…God, it was a good thing her father wasn't around to hear about _this_. He really hadn't been a Thatcher supporter.

Sherlock seemed to ignore the entire conversation, leaving it up to Amelia, as usual, while he fished his magnifying glass out of his pocket and slid it open, bending closer to the table to start examining it more closely. There was a brief moment of silence as they watched him, before he suddenly straightened, "Who?" he frowned, looking completely confused as he looked back to Mr Welsborough.

"Who?" Mr Welsborough blinked, giving him a startled look. Amelia frowned and gave Sherlock a quick look…She barely held back a groan, realising that he truly didn't have a clue who Thatcher was, though why would he? He didn't know who the current PM was.

"Who…who is this?" he repeated, gesturing back to the table.

"Are you serious?"

"Sherlock," John cut in sternly, crossing his arms across his chest, eyeing him with a look a father might give to a misbehaving child.

"He's being quite serious, I'm afraid," Amelia sighed, reaching up to rub her forehead. And here comes that headache she feared she was getting earlier, she ought to have known that Sherlock wouldn't have a clue who Thatcher was, he must have deleted it. To be fair, she didn't exactly blame him for that one, though.

Mr Welsborough was still staring at Sherlock in disbelief, "It's…it's Margaret Thatcher," he explained to him, giving him a slightly weak smile, glancing back over towards his wife…who was giving Sherlock's back a look that clearly said that she thought he was utterly mad, "The first female prime minister of this country"

"Right," Sherlock nodded, bending back down towards the table. John looked away in exasperation and shook his head, when Sherlock suddenly straightened once more, "Prime minister?" he looked around questioningly.

Amelia narrowed her eyes on him…Okay, what was he doing now? She knew for a fact that he at least had a basic,_ basic_ understanding of how parliament worked, he cracked enough jokes at Mycroft's expense to have some clue. So he must be trying to buy some more time, clearly he didn't have a clue what was wrong with the table, so he was trying to give himself a chance to look clever and solve the puzzle. He didn't seem to care if he made himself out to be an idiot doing so, however.

"Mm," Mr Welsborough hummed, looking rather annoyed now, "Leader of the government".

"Right," he smiled, and turned back to examine the table, bending over it and peering through the magnifying glass…, "Female?" he questioned hopefully.

"I'm quite certain you know what _that_ is, Sherlock," Amelia said sharply, while John looked ready to start shaking him in frustration and Mr Welsborough seemed closer still to simply having them chucked out. She glared down at the top of his curly head, crossing her arms across her chest, "For God's sake…would you please stop this nonsense?" she watched him as he slowly straightened and Mr Welsborough walked away, shaking his head at them, "You're going to get us thrown out".

John stepped closer to them, eyeing Sherlock closely, "Why are you playing for time, Sherlock?" he demanded quietly, finally seeming to have caught on.

"It's the gap," Sherlock replied, speaking softly, focusing on the space in the middle of the table, "Look at the gap. It's wrong. Everything else is perfectly ordered, managed…"

"Almost painfully so," Amelia added in a whisper, nodding in agreement as she ran her eyes over the table, "I mean, just look at how everything has been positioned, but yet it's all been cleaned regularly, shifted back into the correct spot each and every time the cleaner has cleaned them, right down the exact same angle as before, as can be deduced by the faint signs of sun exposure on the backs and sides of the frames. But yet…" she frowned at the spot in the middle of table, which looked odd when comparing it to the rest of the items, "There's a large, empty space right in the middle, typically a spot one would place the prized object of their collection. Something was there, of course, but now it's gone. Odd, wouldn't you say, for a collection that has been positioned so carefully?" she glanced back over to John, lifting an eyebrow at him as he frowned slightly.

"Yeah, that is weird..." John said slowly, his gaze lingering on the empty space.

Sherlock turned back towards the room and looked over to where Mr Welsborough had returned to his seat beside his wife, "This figurine is routinely repositioned after the cleaner's been in," he pointed to the porcelain figurine of Thatcher as they looked over to them, before pointing over to the picture of Thatcher in her blue dress, "This picture's straightened every day, yet this ugly gap remains…" he gestured to the middle of the table, frowning, "Something's missing from here, but only recently…" he squatted down before the table, peering closely at the starches, while Amelia bent slightly closer, eyeing the scratches, the context of the table.

"Yes, a…" Mr Welsborough began.

"Plaster bust," Amelia and Sherlock said in unison, still examining the scratches closely. It was really the only thing it could be, in Amelia's mind, given the scratches and the position of it in the centre of the table.

"…plaster bust," he finished, just a little after the detectives, giving them a startled look as he realised they had already figured it out before he could even confirm it.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Mrs Welsborough exclaimed in exasperation, sitting beside her husband, "It got broken. What the hell has this got to do with Charlie?"

Sherlock suddenly rose, just as Amelia went to turn towards the couple, wincing slightly at how badly off topic they had gotten themselves, "Rug!" he said loudly, sliding his magnifying glass closed with a snap.

Everyone stared at him, save for Amelia and John, who glanced down at the floor with a thoughtful expression on his face. Amelia merely nodded in agreement, tapping her foot on the rug covering the floor beneath them.

"What?" Mrs Welsborough blinked, taken aback.

"It couldn't have broken here," Amelia shook her head, eyeing the rug thoughtfully, "If it had fallen off the table, it would have hit the rug, which is to thick to have caused any damage to a solid plaster bust," she shrugged her right shoulder, dismissing a thought as it entered her head, "You also wouldn't have been moving it to another room, not when this is your 'Shrine,' as you described it, Mr Welsborough, so how could it have smashed?"

"Does it matter?" she demanded, looking quite upset now. Amelia glanced over to her and immediately felt a flash of pity for the woman, her eyes red rimmed from crying and dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, and here she was, babbling away about a rug when all she wanted to know was how her child ended up dying. It was a very sharp reality check for Amelia, who winced and instantly wished she had simply kept her mouth shut.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Welsborough," she said with a grimace, ducking her head with shame. She ignored the sharp look Sherlock gave her, knowing that he would be thinking that she ought to feel proud right now, that she should be pleased with herself for noticing something everyone else missed, but not when she was standing before a grief-stricken mother, "Sherlock…" she cleared her throat, forcing herself to look over to him, finding him giving her that little frown, "Perhaps we ought to get back on task…"

"Look," Mr Welsborough interrupted, sighing as he rubbed his forehead warily, "No, we had a break in," he looked back over to the detectives, while Sherlock began looking around curiously, "Some little bastard smashed it to bits. We found the remains out there in the porch".

Sherlock frowned, glancing back towards the door that led out into the entrance hallway, "The porch where we came in?" he questioned, catching Amelia's eye as she looked thoughtfully back towards the door, too.

"How anybody could hate her so much, they'd go to the trouble of smashing her likeness…"

Amelia blinked and couldn't help giving Mr Welsborough a look of total disbelief. _Seriously_? You can't imagine anyone hating Thatcher that much? She was really starting to wonder if Mrs Welsborough realised her husband was in love with old Maggie when they married. They must have the most charming dinner conversations.

Sherlock turned back towards the table, "I'm not expert, but, er, possibly her face?" he suggested, and John closed his eyes in exasperation, while Amelia barely held back an amused look. Mr and Mrs Welsborough looked less than impressed, not that he noticed, frowning down at the table, "Why didn't he smash all the others? Perfect opportunity, and look at that one…" he pointed towards the picture of Thatcher in the blue dress, smirking at the camera, "She's smiling in that one".

"Oh, Inspector, this is clearly a waste of time," Mrs Welsborough sighed heavily, looking across to Lestrade, who stood across from the couch, watching everything, "I mean, if there's nothing more…"

"We know what happened to your son," Sherlock cut across her, turning partly around to look back to them, instantly causing the couple to freeze, hope filling their worn features.

She shifted slightly, her eyes wide, "You do?" she asked, almost breathless with hope.

"Yes," Amelia nodded grimly, "We do".

"But first, tell us…" Sherlock glanced back to the table, earning a slightly annoyed look from Amelia…they could get answers to the bust later; surely the son's murder should be there main focus right now? "The night of the break in," he continued, pretending not to see her look, "This room was in darkness?"

"Well, yes," Mr Welsborough replied quickly, evidently just as eager as his wife to move along.

"And the porch where it was smashed," he gestured towards the door, turning back around to face the couple, "I noticed the motion sensor was damaged, so I assume it's permanently lit".

Lestrade almost gaped at him, shocked, "How'd you notice that?"

"_We_ use our eyes, Lestrade," Amelia smiled faintly, earning her another surprised look from the man, which was just a little insulting, "Honestly…" she shook her head, "You police think you are so highly trained and experts at detective work, but that arrogance breeds sloppiness, Lestrade".

"So you're saying that he smashed it where he could see it," John said slowly, while Lestrde continued to look taken aback.

"Exactly," Sherlock confirmed, turning back to the table, eyeing it thoughtfully.

"Why?"

"Dunno. Wouldn't be fun if I know".

"Mr Holmes," Mrs Welsborough spoke up, her voice choked with tears, "Miss Wilson,_ please_".

Amelia winced, glancing over to the woman, "Sherlock, enough," she said firmly, turning to give Sherlock a sharp look as he sighed, spinning around from the table. He met her eyes, "Time to focus on why we're_ really_ here. Now, shall you start or will I?"

He released another breathe through his lips, looking slightly reluctant leave the matter of the bust alone right now, but he did turn towards the couple sitting on the sofa under Amelia's stern gaze, "It was your fiftieth birthday, Mr Welsborough," he began, his speech rapid, but soft, "Of course you were disappointed that your son hadn't made it back from his gap year. After all, he was in Tibet".

"Yes," Mr Welsborough agreed, nodding.

"Actually, that isn't the case," Amelia corrected gently, watching the couple sadly.

He blinked, confused, "I'm sorry?"

"You see, it was the video call he made to you that is the clue to that," she explained, her expression soft, trying to be as gentle as possible. This was a moment they would remember for the rest of their lives, she wanted to break it to them as gently as possible, "It was pre-recorded, easy enough to arrange. The fact that you lost the image of your son part way through the call isn't odd, but when one understands that the trick your son had planned was supposed to be a surprise, it's easy enough to deduce the truth".

"Trick?" he stared at her, blankly.

"Obviously," Sherlock said grimly, "There were two types of vinyl in the burnt-out remains of the car, one the actual passenger seat, the other a good copy. Well, good enough," he shrugged lightly, looking seriously at the couple, "Effectively a costume".

Mr and Mrs Welsborough stared at them in disbelief, Mr Welsborough glancing at Lestrade, as though to check that the other man was hearing this, too, before turning back to the detectives.

"You're joking," he scoffed slightly, his eyes wide.

"I know how it sounds," Amelia assured him, "But it's true, how else could there be two types of vinyl present on the same seat?" she gave them a sad smile, "He was trying to surprise you for your birthday, Mr Welsborough, he asked you to go out to his car and then when you got close enough, he would have jumped out from behind the mock seat and surprised you. But…" she paused, taking a deep breath, before going on, "That's when it happened, and I am so very sorry".

"I can't be certain, of course," Sherlock continued, glancing at Amelia, "But I…_we_ think Charlie must have suffered some sort of seizure. You said he'd felt unwell?" Mr and Mrs Welsborough's mouths slipped open in horror, tears swimming in Mrs Welsborough's eyes, "He died there and then," he went on, his tone soft, almost close to being sympathetic, "No one had any cause to go near his car, so there he remained in the driver's seat hidden until…" he paused briefly, Mr Welsborough taking his wife's hand in his, staring transfixed up at the detectives, "When the two cars were examined, the fake seat had melted in the fire, revealing Charlie, who'd been sitting there quite dead for a week".

"Oh, God!" Mrs Welsborough burst out, sobbing in her hand, while her husband continued to look up at the detectives, hugging his wife to his side, but still wearing a look of shock on his face. It would clearly take him some time to come to grips with what happened to his son, and Amelia truly couldn't blame him for that.

Lestrade turned slightly away from the couple, looking at Amelia and Sherlock, "Poor kid," he said quietly, lowering his eyes to the ground regretfully.

"Really, we're so sorry," Sherlock said sincerely to the stricken couple, Mr Welsborough's gaze distant with shock, while his wife continued to sob into her hand, almost collapsing with each sob, "Mr Welsborough, Mrs Welsborough".

He glanced at Amelia, who met his eyes with a look of sadness in her own eyes, feeling her heart breaking watching Charlie's parents trying to come to terms with what had happened to their son. This sort of thing never got easier, having to explain to the loved ones of someone how their family member or friend had died was always hard, but when it was something like this, someone so young and who had merely died as a result of medical complication, not just as a result of murder, it was somehow even harder to have to witness the family cope with that. At least with murder there was a chance at justice, there could be no justice with this death, merely acceptance, and that was a great deal harder. He surprised her then, by reaching out to place a hand on the small of her back, his expression grim as he lightly began to guide her over towards the door.

Amelia let him, closing her eyes briefly at the sound of the Welsborough's grief behind her as they slipped out of the room, comforted by the feeling of Sherlock's large, warm hand through the fabric of her coat and dress. Neither of them spoke as they moved past the suited man still standing outside the lounge room door, nor did either of them say anything as they headed outside to the front porch. Amelia felt almost as though a heavy weight was pressing down on her chest as she made little move to help Sherlock as he stepped away from her, slipping his magnifying glass out of his pocket and bent down by one of the stone pillars of the porch, examining the ground closely by the base of it. She thought that this case would likely linger in the back of her mind for some time now.

"That was awful," she sighed sadly, shaking her head as she looked down at Sherlock's back, kneeling on the floor, "How do you ever get over something like that? I can't even imagine…"

"Yes, yes, it was very sad," he muttered distractedly, sounding rather impatient now. Amelia almost blinked at his shift in mood, but she had known him long enough now to not be overly surprised, "But it's over with now, Amelia. We have more pressing issues to concern ourselves with".

Amelia rolled her eyes, edging closer to peer down at the ground that he was examining so closely, making sure that she didn't stand in his light, of course, "Don't act like you weren't affected, Sherlock," she said knowingly.

His head gave a slight twitch of annoyance, "Amelia…"

She released a loud breathe through her painted lips, delicately balancing herself so that she was crouching beside him, peering over his shoulder at the ground, "So this is the spot, then?" she asked him, deciding that it really wasn't worth it right now to try and get him to admit what she already knew…he felt bad for the Welsborough's, "This is where our mysterious thief smashed the bust?"

"Evidently," he muttered, just as the sound of two sets of heavy footsteps sounded from behind them. Amelia used Sherlock's back to help herself straighten, Sherlock paying her little mind as she turned to see John and Lestrade step out of the front door of the house.

"That was _amazing_," Lestrade remarked the moment he caught sight of them, his eyes wide and lit up with wonder, while John came to stand by Amelia, eyeing Sherlock's back curiously.

"What?" Sherlock asked absently, not sparing any of them a glance.

"The car, the kid…"

"Ancient history. Why are you still talking about it?"

John looked around the porch thoughtfully, "What's so important about a broken burst of Margaret Thatcher?" he asked, glancing back to Amelia, who merely frowned slightly, unsure exactly herself why it was so important, just that something about it was odd.

"Can't stand it," Sherlock suddenly sat upright from where he had been bending close towards the ground, eyes narrowed off into the distance, "Never can. There's a loose thread in the world".

"Yeah," he eyed him with a slightly concerned look, "Doesn't mean you have to pull on it".

He frowned deeply, lifting his head to look up at John and Amelia, "What kind of life would that be?" he looked away from them again, "Besides, I have the strangest feeling…" he trailed off slowly, before shaking his head sharply and jumping up onto his feet, just as a black cab pulled up on the driveway a few feet away from them. He immediately began heading towards it, while Amelia looked surprised…Oh, he was a sneaky one, that was for sure, "That's mine and Amelia's," he informed the equally startled John and Lestrade, pointing towards the cab, while Amelia blinked, "You two take a…bus. Amelia, coming?" he looked back over her shoulder to her, seemingly realising she wasn't following.

"Um…" Amelia glanced at John and Lestrade, "I guess so," she shook her head, smiling slightly in bemusement as she moved to follow him…he even opened the door for her as she neared, earning himself a slightly odd look from her.

John laughed slightly in disbelief from behind them, "Why?" he questioned, watching them in confusion.

Sherlock spared him a brief look over his shoulder, while Amelia slid into the back seat, "I need to concentrate," he replied, as though it was simple, "And I don't want to hit you".

"Oh, but you'll take Amelia with you instead?"

He fixed him with a sharp look, moving to climb in after Amelia, "Amelia is far less likely to offer unintelligent chitchat," he said with little apology, slamming the door behind him as he settled himself comfortably next to Amelia, who lifted an eyebrow at him. He didn't look at her, focusing on the back of the driver's head, "The Mall, please".

Amelia smirked as the cab immediately took off down the driveway, leaving John and Lestrade standing at the edge of the porch, staring after them in disbelief, "Admit it, Holmes," she playfully nudged his side, earning her a small glare, "You just wanted to be alone with me".

Sherlock didn't even grace that with a response, which only made Amelia laugh out loud.

_**It's been a while, hasn't it? Oh, I am so bad at updating things lately, I apologise, guys. Life has been very, very busy the last few months, hopefully it's going to get a little better from here on out. Hopefully. As always, Amelia's outfit will be on my Tumblr, my Pinterest, and Shoplook, all under the same user name.**_

_**Next chapter, Amelia and John get up to a little fun at Sherlock's expense, Mycroft just loves to see his baby brother squirm in front of Amelia, and Amelia thinks Scotland Yard needs putting in their place. Tell me what you thought, please review :)**_

_**Guest review:**_

_**Guest: **__**I've watched every episode of Elementary and I loved the first season, I thought it was so brilliant, the second season was also okay, but after that the show did kind of go downhill in my eyes, hence why I will not be writing for Elementary. I have considered writing a crossover with Amelia meeting Elementary Sherlock or something like that, just for fun, but I wouldn't write a full story for the series. I can't even think of an OC that I would create for the show.**_

_**As for the Robert Downy Jr films, I haven't ruled them out at all. I could so think of an OC, I'd probably start off the series with original content, rather than go straight into the movies, which I think would be fun to play with. But right now I have no plans to start writing that story up at all, I've got other projects to contend with that I have actually written and planned before starting a whole new project like that one. But it is a possibility :)**_


	4. Chapter 4 The Six Thatcher's, Part 4

_**The Six Thatcher's, Part 4**_

Amelia had been half right when she had jokingly asked Sherlock if he had insisted upon going back to London with only her because he wanted to be alone with her, though Sherlock still refused to admit that. She knew, that was good enough for her. The main reason, however, was that he actually wanted to question her about her brother's political leanings, specifically if James had ever shown any interest in Thatcher. Much to Sherlock's obvious annoyance, she really couldn't help him, seeing as she barely knew James better then a stranger walking down the street, reminding him pointedly that she and her brother didn't exactly meet up and have coffee on a regular base during her brother's life. Politics hadn't been something her family had been overly interested in growing up, oh, she remembered hearing her father's complaints about Thatcher's government, he had been far from a fan of the Iron Lady, but she and James had been young children during that time, neither of them had been overly interested in anything relating to news events during the early 80's.

If James had ever been interested in politics, it had been after he had left home.

Sherlock, naturally, found this to be very frustrating and had spent most of the ride back to the city scowling thoughtfully out his window, occasionally muttering something under his breath or posing another question to Amelia, who had taken to scrolling through her phone to entertain herself. She answered as best she could, though she doubted very much if any of this involved her brother. It seemed…easy, too easy, for James to have been bothered to go to the effort of setting into motion after his death. She kept that to herself, for now, anyway, it was easier to let Sherlock mull over his own theory when he seemed so hyper focused on it right now, besides, they should investigate all possible avenues, just in case.

He was still rather preoccupied by his thoughts, even after they had arrived at the Diogenes Club and been escorted into Mycroft's office. Sherlock had barely given his brother a 'Hello,' leaving Amelia to give Mycroft a rundown of everything they had learnt thus far, while he had began pacing the width of the office behind the silver, metal chair that Amelia was sitting in before Mycroft's desk. Oddly enough, Sherlock did shove his phone at Mycroft at one point during Amelia's explanation of the case, earning himself a slightly confused look from his brother and Amelia, before going straight back to pacing once more. Amelia had simply shook her head and continued speaking to Mycroft, not even going to try and understand Sherlock's thought process right now.

"And so we've come to see you," Amelia finished, after her lengthy explanation, sighing slightly with her hands clasped together on top of her crossed legs. She had removed her coat since entering the room, draping it over the back of her chair, while her handbag sat just beneath her seat. Mycroft lifted an eyebrow at her, holding Sherlock's phone aloft in his right hand, "Though, I'm still not completely sure _why _we're here in the first place…" she shot Sherlock a narrowed eyed, searching look from the corner of her eye.

It would be _so_ delightful if Sherlock actually paused long enough to explain things to her sometimes, she was clever and good at reading things, yes, but even she needed an explanation from time to time. Of course, she could make an educated guess, after all, who better to ask about anything politically relating then Mycroft Holmes? But she knew it was more likely that Sherlock wanted to ask Mycroft for information about her brother. Mycroft did hold James captured for an unspecified duration of time at one point, surely he must have gained some information on James during that time, information that Amelia didn't have, in any case. Hence the visit to Mycroft…she doubted very much if Sherlock had suddenly decided to pay his big bro a social visit. Mycroft gave her a small smile, one that somehow always looked condescending and smug. Amelia struggled not to grit her teeth in annoyance at the sight of it.

"I met her once," Mycroft remarked suddenly.

"Thatcher?" Sherlock asked, not pausing in his pacing. He had also removed his coat, though he had hung it up on a modern, metal coat stand that stood in the corner of the room, by the door.

"Rather arrogant, I thought".

"_God_," Amelia blinked, startled as she stared at Mycroft, even Sherlock threw his brother a look, too, "She must have been bad if _you_ thought she was arrogant".

Mycroft actually chuckled lightly at that, which was rather surprising to hear in itself, Amelia thought, "I know!" he smiled lightly, though his expression quickly grew puzzled as he glanced at the phone still clasped in his hand, holding it up slightly for them to see a picture of Rosie lying on a blanket on the grass, Amelia having taken it during one of their babysitting adventures. She had managed to get Sherlock to join them that day in the park, stealing his phone to send the picture to John, while he and Mary had been at work. She was slightly surprised to find that he hadn't actually deleted the picture in the month that had passed since, "Why am I looking at this?" he frowned over to his brother.

Sherlock actually did stop his pacing at that, looking over Amelia's head to him, "That's her," he told him, while Mycroft simply stared at him, confused, "John and Mary's baby".

"Aww, look at you, Holmes," Amelia cooed, shifting slightly in her seat to get a better look at Sherlock, who tried to give her a glare…only it failed rather miserably, "Look how proud you are of your goddaughter".

He narrowed his eyes on her, "Stop that".

She laughed, delighted, "That's_ so_ adorable, Sherlock," she said happily, caring little for his annoyance, or his attempt to seem annoyed, "I'm proud of you".

"For God's sake…" he muttered, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, looking as though he wished the ground would swallow him up right then and there…or Amelia, so he didn't have to look at her grinning, smug face right now. He knew there was a very good reason why he rarely brought up Rosie, Amelia would only jump to conclusions and that seemed rather unhealthy.

Mycroft smiled knowingly at his brother, which only increased Sherlock's annoyance, "Oh, I see, brother mine," he said with a smug tone, leaving no one in question of whether or not he thought Amelia was wrong in her deduction. He turned his attention back onto the phone, eyeing the picture, ignoring Sherlock's glare, "Yes…" he broke into a small smile, one that looked rather…fake, to Amelia's eyes, "Looks very…" he paused, struggling to find the right word, closing his eyes briefly, "…fully functioning".

Amelia and Sherlock stared at him in disbelief, wearing matching frowns, which seemed to have little effect on Mycroft as he lifted his head to look back up to them.

"Is that _really_ the best you can do?" Sherlock questioned flatly, eyeing him.

"Sorry. I've never been very good with them".

"Babies?"

He smiled, almost smugly, "Humans".

"Evidently," Amelia shook her head, giving Mycroft a look, while Sherlock stepped forward towards the desk, taking his phone back from his brother. She refrained from asking whether or not Mycroft would find any child that she and Sherlock might have in the distant future just as uninteresting, but she held herself back. Somehow she thought she already knew the answer to that, which led to another rather terrifying realisation. If she and Sherlock ever had children, they would be Mycroft's niece or nephew…which was just simply _scary_ to think about. Doting Uncle Mycroft was just impossible to picture.

"Moriarty," Sherlock said briskly, slipping his phone back inside his inner blazer pocket, returning to his pacing, "Did he have any connection with Thatcher? Any interest in her? Amelia is useless on the matter…"

Amelia shot him a dark look over her shoulder, though she refined from saying anything. He knew perfectly well just how close she and James had been.

"Why on Earth would he?" Mycroft lifted an eyebrow, lazily watching his brother pace.

"You and James were so very close, after all, Mycroft," Amelia turned back towards him, fixing him with a steady, cool look, "You spent all that time with him…surely you got something out of him, between bouts of _torture_?" her tone was like ice by the end of her words.

He grimaced at the word 'Torture,' but he also didn't try to deny it, not that there was any question in what he had been doing to James Moriarty when he had held him prisoner. Amelia might not have been close to her brother, but he was still her blood and her twin, she didn't exactly enjoy the thought of her brother having been tortured. When she had first found out about it, she had very nearly tracked down Mycroft herself and slapped him, just for the principle of what he had done. She would never deny that James had been a terrible person who deserved to be locked up, but that didn't mean that she thought it was okay to torture him.

"I merely asked James Moriarty for information," Mycroft sniffed, pretending not to hear her scoff of disbelief and anger, instead he sat forward in his chair and flipped open the folder that he had lying on his desk, though she doubted very much if he actually needed the file.

"And I'm sure you were perfect gentlemen while doing so," she said darkly, eyeing Mycroft as his eyes flickered back up to her briefly. She didn't need to see Sherlock's face to know that he was smirking very slightly, no doubt enjoying watching her calling out his big brother. She sighed heavily, forcing herself to relax her tense shoulders, "I don't suppose your little chats were illuminating in any way to our current dilemma?"

He returned his attention onto the file, running his eyes down the first sheet of paper pinned inside it, "In the last year of his life," he began, "James Moriarty was involved with four political assassinations…" Amelia couldn't quite hold back the grimace, hearing about how bad James had been was harder then she might have expected, "…over seventy assorted robberies and terrorist attacks, including a chemical weapons factory in North Korea, and had latterly shown some interest in tracking down the Black Pearl of the Borgias…" Amelia's eyebrows lifted with curiosity, while Mycroft sat back comfortably in his chair, looking up to them as he spoke, "...which is still missing, by the way, in case you feel like applying yourselves to something practical".

"It's a_ pearl_," Sherlock huffed in annoyance, "Get another one. Amelia has loads, I'm sure she could lend you one…" he waved his hand dismissively to Amelia, coming to stand next to her chair.

Amelia sighed heavily, while Mycroft rolled his eyes, "I'm…not even going to try and explain this one," she muttered, reaching up to rub her forehead, making a mental note to look into it more herself later on. She wouldn't mind taking a crack at tracking down that pearl, _fully_ intending to return it to its rightful owner, of course.

Sherlock paid her little mind, frowning distractedly as he looked away from them, off into the distance, "There's something important about this," he said quietly, "I'm sure," Amelia and Mycroft regarded him closely, but he continued to look off into the distance, thoughtful, "Maybe it's Moriarty. Maybe it's not. But_ something's_ coming".

Amelia frowned deeply, eyeing him warily, feeling a sense of concern wash over her. She didn't like the way he was speaking, it made her feel nervous, because she understood what he meant. A part of her also felt like they were standing on the edge of a cliff, just a gust of wind away from being sent toppling right over the edge, but what that wind might be was hard to tell yet. She feared that whatever it was that was coming, it would be their hardest challenge yet, something that might test them to their very limits, tearing apart the weak and fragile aspects of their lives, or perhaps it would strengthen them, force them to grow closer together than ever before. Whatever it was that was coming for them, she feared that it would test them all in ways they hadn't ever been tested before, and that thought alone sent a shiver down her spine.

Mycroft frowned and leaned forward, bracing himself on top of his desk by his elbows and clasping his hands together, "Are you having a premonition, brother mine?" he asked him, watching him closely with a dubious expression.

Sherlock actually blinked, seemingly returning back to reality, "The world is woven from billions of lives," he said, looking back between Amelia and Mycroft, "Every strand crossing every other. What we call premonition is just movement of the web. If you could attenuate every strand of quivering data, the future would be entirely calculable, as inevitable as mathematics".

"What a dull life that would be," Amelia commented softly, and Sherlock's eyes immediately snapped onto her. She shrugged lightly, "To always know what is coming next, to know that it is unavoidable. It would drive you mad. Imagine it, living your life with the exact knowledge of when and where and how you would die…"

Mycroft smiled faintly, which seemed rather odd, given the topic of conversation, "Appointment in Samarra," he said with a flash of amusement, turning his gaze to fix knowingly on Sherlock.

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock looked at him blankly, having seemingly drifted off again in his own thoughts. Amelia looked curiously at Mycroft, too.

"The merchant who can't outrun death," he replied, his smile turning into a small smirk, "You always hated that story as a child, Sherlock. Less keen on predestination back then".

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, lifting his chin slightly, "I'm not sure I like it now," he said flatly, turning away from him and walking over towards the coat stand, grabbing his large coat off one of the metal hooks.

"You wrote another version, as I remember. Appointment in _Sumatra_. The merchant goes to a different city and is perfectly fine".

Amelia smiled, amused by the idea of curly haired Sherlock poring over a notepad, scribbling away his own version of the story, which was obviously supposed to teach a lesson. She rose from her chair and grabbed her own coat from the back of her seat, pulling it on as she glanced back over to Sherlock, who was scowling as he pulled his coat on.

"How sweet, Holmes," she grinned at him, not bothering to do her belt up this time, "Who would have thought that you were such an optimist".

Sherlock gave her a flat look, "Thankfully, I grew out of that," he said with a deep frown, shooting his brother an annoyed look, less then pleased that Mycroft seemed to be enjoying purposely finding ways to embarrass him from his childhood in front of Amelia, using her clear delight at learning about it to get back at him. It was sadly an excellent tactic on Mycroft's part, "_Goodnight_, Mycroft".

He gave him a pointed look as he turned towards the door, Amelia smiling faintly as she moved to join him, quickly picking up her handbag from beneath her chair. But Mycroft wasn't yet done, smiling, almost smugly as he watched them.

"Of course, your story didn't end there, did it?" he continued, his tone light, "The merchant becomes a pirate, for some reason".

Amelia laughed at that, looking eagerly to Sherlock, who looked as though he was barely resisting the urge to throttle his brother, "Oh, you _have_ to tell me that story, Sherlock," she practically begged, grabbing his arm and playfully tugging on his sleeve.

Sherlock gave his brother a dark look over his shoulder, "Must you encourage her, Mycroft?" he huffed angrily.

"I haven't a clue what you mean, dear little brother," Mycroft replied instantly, giving him a look of pure innocence and mock confusion, though the slight lift to his mouth as he sat back in his chair was far from innocent.

"And I thought politicians were supposed to be good liars," Amelia smirked, throwing him a knowing look over her shoulder.

Sherlock simply sighed, "Just keep us informed, Mycroft," he said warily, turning on his heel and walking out the office door, not even waiting to see if Amelia would follow.

"Of what?" Mycroft called after them, Amelia easily falling into step with Sherlock, still looking far to amused for his comfort.

"Absolutely no idea," he replied simply, not looking back as they headed off down the long hallway.

….

A week past by with still little progress in the mysterious case of the smashing of Thatcher's bust, during which time Sherlock's mood had ranged from being almost unbearable for even Amelia to deal with, to him being oddly sweet and thoughtful around the flat. He had even agreed to go out shopping for new shirts with Amelia one afternoon, something she had been trying to get him to do for almost three months now with little successes. He had been down to his last three white shirts, all the others had ended up stained or ripped or even burnt, but trying to get him to go clothing shopping had been a near impossible task up until that point. Amelia had even managed to get him to try some new shoes while they had been out. It was all very domestic and little too normal, for them, in fact it had freaked out Amelia so much that the moment they had gotten home, she had immediately began to throw herself into the case of the missing Borgia Pearl.

Of course, they still had their occasional drop in clients that would turn up, today's one was proving to be slightly more dull than normal. Amelia continued to smile and nod throughout the client's story, though in truth she was working more on autopilot, something she knew for a fact was Sherlock's typical way of dealing with their drop in clients. Today he barely even seemed to be paying attention to anything; he hadn't even noticed that John had left the room hours ago to see Mrs Hudson, though he was back now, moving around the kitchen. The client before them was just so painfully ordinary, mostly; anyway, he even worked in insurance and was wearing a pair of grey trousers and a short sleeves shirt.

Amelia struggled to maintain an expression polite interest, perched on the armrest of Sherlock's usual chair, black skinny jean clad legs crossed over one another, while her fitted bright red blouse and matching polished flats contrasted with the black, matching perfectly with the red lipstick and nails. She wore a black blazer over the top of the sleeveless blouse, while a pair of drop earrings made of three delicate, gold circles hung from her ears, displayed clearly by her hair being swept up in a high, rounded bun at the very top of her head. She probably would have gone with the heels if she had known they were getting a client, though, she doubted if they would actually be taking on his case any time soon.

She almost broke into an amused grin as she caught sight of the bright yellow balloon with a smiley face drawn onto it with a black marker, sitting tied to John's chair, filling in for him, apparently. Sherlock really was distracted today; he hadn't even noticed it at all, Amelia was quite curious to see just how long it would take him to spot it. John reckoned it would take him until at least the evening to finally notice, Amelia was saying more like mid afternoon. They had actually made a bet on it when Sherlock had been out of the room, there was five pounds riding on it. She wondered if she would be able to cheat, somehow, just to try and casually draw attention to the balloon…

Outside, muffled voices sounded through the closed landing door, and Amelia frowned slightly and glanced over towards it, their client, Kingsley, still speaking. Next to her, Sherlock shifted very slightly, shooting a small, annoyed look towards the door. It was unmistakable Lestrade's voice and…DI Hopkins; too, it seemed that they had both had the same idea of dropping by on the detectives today. Judging by the tone of conversation, the whole encounter was rather awkward, Amelia almost wished she could be there to witness Lestrade get all flustered, she had always suspected that something might have gone on between Hopkins and Lestrade, just by the way that the two of them would react when the others name was brought up, even in passing…here was the proof of that it seemed.

"I know!" Lestrade's voice suddenly grew louder, clearly bleeding through the door. Kingsley faulted for the first time in his speech, blinking slightly as he looked back around towards the door, making Sherlock twitch in annoyance, "But then I met Sherlock…" his voice only seemed to grow in pitch, causing Amelia to grimace and frown over at the door…Hopkins wasn't deaf, there was truly no need to speak so loudly! Sherlock, fed up, it seems, suddenly stood and began to cross the room with an exasperated glare aimed at the door, "It was so simple, the way…"

Sherlock reached the door and threw it open, glaring through the open door, blocking Amelia's view as she tried to discreetly lean sideways on the armrest to try and get a look.

"Will you_ please_ keep it down?" he snapped, not even waiting for a response before slamming the door shut once more, turning back around to pass by Kingsley, heading towards his chair, "Now, you haven't always been in life insurance, have you?" he said casually, sitting back down, "You started out in manual labour," Kingsley blinked, opening his mouth to respond, but he quickly silenced him by rolling his eyes and lifting his hands up, "Oh, don't bother being astonished. Your right hand's almost an entire size bigger than your left".

Amelia shrugged lightly as Kingsley looked down at his clasped hands in his lap, "Side effect of hard work that requires working with ones hands," she commented, her gaze lingering on his hands, which still had some faint scarring from years of work, she suspected something to do with chiselling, if some of the thin, old scars littering his knuckles were anything to go by. She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, "Let me guess…carpenter?"

"Er, yeah," Kingsley stared at her, his eyes widening slightly in shock. Amelia smiled, looking rather satisfied with herself, "I, uh, took after my dad".

Sherlock shot her a small look from the corner of his eye, a look that Amelia thought was caught between pride and annoyance, no doubt feeling a little disappointed that he hadn't picked that up. Deductive reasoning was something of a competition between them at times, not usually when they were out on a case, in the thick of it all, but when it was something a little more trivial like the case Kingsley was presenting them, it became something of a game as to who could deduce the most. Almost as though he wanted to prove himself perfectly equal to matching Amelia, Sherlock turned his gaze back onto Kingsley, calculating him sharply.

"And you're trying to give up smoking," he added, speaking faster than truly needed right now, as though he was in a great rush. Amelia struggled to contain her amused smirk, one eyebrow arched as her eyes flickered between both men, knowing perfectly well what Sherlock was doing right now, "Unsuccessfully, and you once had a Japanese girlfriend that meant a lot to you but now you feel indifferent about".

"Seriously, Sherlock?" Amelia smiled, shaking her head as their client simply stared at Sherlock, processing what had just happened, "Feeling a little sensitive today, are we?"

Sherlock scoffed, turning his head towards her to fix her with a withering glare, "I am working, Amelia," he said pointedly, sounding eerily like Mycroft. If he started giving her condescending smiles and getting around with an umbrella, she was really going to have to revisit this whole dating thing.

She gave him a tight lipped, knowing look, "Oh, of _course_ you are," she said quietly, nodding in a way that made him narrow his eyes even more on her, "Honestly, the male ego can be so delicate sometimes, it's hilarious".

He went to defend himself, when Kingsley chuckled lightly, instantly drawing both detectives attention back onto him, "How the hell…?" he shook his head, before seemingly remembering something and glancing down his front, looking into his shirts breast pocket, where several e-cigarettes were bulging slightly through the thin fabric. He smiled and looked back up to them, "Ah," he said in understanding, "E-cigarettes".

"Not quite," Amelia smirked mysteriously, making the man pause, his smile dimming slightly in confusion.

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed in agreement, peering closer at the man's pocket, "Ten individual e-cigarettes. Now, if you just wanted to smoke indoors, you would have invested in one of those irritating electronic pipes things, but you're convinced you can give up, so you don't want to buy a pipe because that means you're not serious about quitting, so instead you buy individual cigarettes, always sure that each one will be your last. Anything to add, John?"

Amelia barely held back her groan of disappointment as he turned to look over to John's chair, only to do a double take upon finding the balloon, his head doing a very quick twitch, which she imagined must have been rather painful, eyes widening as he stared at the bright red balloon.

"Damn it," Amelia sighed heavily, closing her eyes in exasperation. There goes her chance at winning the bet…still; at least John had completely lost, too. Mrs Hudson was going to be so smug, she had bet ten pounds on Sherlock realising John wasn't in the room before lunch time, and it was only just 11:43am now.

"John?" he called, his features filling with confusion and surprise.

"Er, yeah, yeah," John suddenly popped his head around the corner of the kitchen door, before fully rounding the doorframe to step into the living room, "Listening".

"What _is_ that?" he demanded, eyeing the balloon.

"That is…me," John replied, moving further into the room, shrugging slightly, "Well, it's a me-substitute".

Sherlock frowned slightly and cast a slightly awkward glance towards Kingsley, as though slightly embarrassed to have a client witnessing this, "Don't be so hard on yourself," he told him, laughing weakly as he caught Amelia's eye, shifting slightly under her obvious amused gaze, before his eyes flickered back over to John, though he dropped eye contact with him almost immediately. Yep, differently embarrassed, it was almost fascinating to witness, "You know I value your little contributions".

"Yeah?" he lifted an eyebrow, his tone light, "It's been there since nine this morning".

"Has it? Where were you?"

"Helping Mrs H with her Sudoku".

"Amelia," Sherlock looked to her, eyes narrowed, "Were you aware of this?"

"Oh, Holmes," Amelia smiled, actually daring to place her hand on his shoulder, her expression filled with mock sympathy, "Do you truly have to ask? I mean, who do you think suggested placing bets on when you'd notice?"

"You were _betting_?" he exclaimed, looking positively outraged now, throwing John a glare.

John didn't seem to be the slightest bit bothered by his ex-flatmates reaction, in fact he was smiling faintly, "Mrs Hudson's going to be thrilled," he commented, exchanging an amused look with Amelia, "We should probably also let Molly and Mary know they lost out…"

"Molly and Mary were in on this?"

"Of course they were, Sherlock," Amelia shook her head patiently, giving him a small smile, her hand still resting lightly on his shoulder. John was barely containing his laughter now, seeing how truly outraged Sherlock was getting, "I even texted Mycroft if he wanted in on the action, but apparently it was too childish for him," she rolled her eyes at the end of her sentence.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes on them, she could practically hear him plotting revenge right now, his mouth pressed into a firm line and his gaze a little to intent and calculating on her and John to be overly comfortable. She imagined he would find some creative means of getting back at them, or more specifically herself and John, since they were obviously the ringleaders of this whole game to begin with. She couldn't say she regretted it; however, seeing the outraged expression on his face was just too priceless.

"Er…what about my girlfriend?" Kingsley's almost nervous voice broke through the silence that had settled over the room. Amelia, John, and Sherlock's head snapped around to find the man still sitting there, looking around at the three of them with slightly wide eyes. He almost shifted back into his chair at having all of their attention fixed on him.

"What?" Sherlock asked blankly, frowning at him as though he couldn't even remember the man ever having been there.

"You said I had an ex".

"Oh, _right_," Amelia gave herself a sharp shake, trying to pull herself back into a slightly more professional mindset, one that had little to do with wondering if she ought to be careful about tripwires in the coming weeks. She gave the man a slight smile, shrugging carelessly, "Your tattoo on the crook of your elbow told us about your ex. The names 'Akako,' which is obviously a Japanese name, therefore we can infer that you had a Japanese girlfriend that you cared enough to brand yourself with her name".

"It's also obvious that you've tried to have it removed," Sherlock added, his tone almost sounding bored, not even bothering to look at their client.

Kingsley blinked and looked down at his arm, frowning, "But surely that means I wanna forget her," he said slowly, looking back up to them, "Not that I'm indifferent".

"If she'd really hurt your feelings," he rolled his eyes, looking across to him, "You would have had the word obliterated, but the first attempt wasn't successful and you haven't tried again, so it seems you can live with the slightly blurred memory of Akako, hence the indifference".

He stared at them for a long moment, before bursting out laughing, earning a slightly confused look from both Amelia and Sherlock, "I…I thought you'd done something clever," he giggled, making Sherlock narrow his eyes and Amelia grimace slightly, shooting Sherlock a wary look, "No, no," he shook his head, his laughter dying down, "Ah, but now you've explained it, it's dead simple, innit?" he grinned and looked over to John, who had retrieved his cup of tea during the exchange.

John smiled slightly, closed lipped, and glanced a little apprehensively over towards Sherlock and Amelia. Amelia sighed and shook her head, looking as though she almost felt sorry for Kingsley now, just as Sherlock straightened in his chair and breathed in deeply through his nose, turning himself so that he was more directly facing the other man, before releasing the long, slow breath through his nose once more.

"I've withheld this information from you until now, Mr Kingsley," he began, deadly serious as he regarded the man closely, "But I think it's time you knew the truth".

Kingsley had completely lost his smile by now, giving Sherlock a confused frown, "What d'you mean?" he asked, his eyes flickering over to Amelia…who simply lifted her eyes upwards, her red lips pressed tightly together.

"Have you ever wondered if your wife was a little bit out of your league?" Sherlock lifted an eyebrow, his gaze still fixed steadily on the other man.

"Well…" he considered it briefly.

"You thought she was having an affair. I'm afraid it's far worse than that. Your wife is a spy".

His mouth dropped open, stunned, "What?"

Amelia desperately kept her lips pressed firmly together, not quite trusting herself not to say something disapproving. Or just crack up laughing completely, it could go either way right now, depending how farfetched this would be.

"That's right," Sherlock nodded, speaking rapidly, not taking his eyes off Kingsley, "Her real name is Greta Bengtsdotter. Swedish by birth and probably the most dangerous spy in the world. She's been operating deep undercover for the past four years now as your wife for one reason only: to get near the American embassy which is across the road from your flat," he took a sharp breathe as Kingsley shifted slightly, still looking rather shocked, "Tomorrow the US president will be at the embassy as part of an official state visit. As the president greets members of staff, Grete Bengtsdotter, disguised as a twenty two stone cleaner, will inject the president in the back of the neck with a dangerous new drug hidden inside a secret compartment inside her padded armpit…" Amelia blinked, giving Sherlock a sideways look at that one, barely holding back the giggles, though Sherlock was focused entirely on Kingsley, "This drug will then render the president entirely susceptible to the will of their new master, none other than James Moriarty".

"What?" Kingsley gasped out.

"Moriarty will then use the president as a pawn to destabilise the United Nations General Assembly which is due to vote on a nuclear non-proliferation treaty," he continued, speaking so fast, it was amazing that his words weren't running in to each other, "Tipping the balance in favour of a first strike policy against Russia. This chain of events will then prove unstoppable, thus precipitating…" he finally managed to slow his speech, saying his final words very clearly, "…World War Three".

Amelia tried very hard not to giggle, instead she settled on smiling down at her crossed legs. John, however, did laugh quietly.

"Are you serious?" John grinned at Sherlock. Amelia did let herself laugh that time.

"No, of course not," Sherlock rolled his eyes, and climbed onto his feet, buttoning his blazer around his middle as he did so, "His wife left him because his breath stinks and he likes to wear her lingerie," he barely gave Kingsley a passing look as he walked by his chair, heading over to the landing door.

"I don't!" Kingsley defended himself quickly, looking slightly panicky between John and Amelia. Amelia simply lifted an eyebrow at him, her mouth lifting faintly knowing, while John merely eyed him. He shifted slightly awkwardly, "Just the bras".

Sherlock reached the door and opened it, stepping aside to reveal Lestrade and Hopkins still lingering on the landing, "Get out," he said, his hand still resting on the doorhandle, waiting for Kingsley to hurriedly stand and leave the room, swinging the door shut on his back, which closed with a loud bang.

Lestrade and Hopkins didn't even have a chance to try and speak up.

"Well, that was interesting and boring all at once," Amelia commented lightly, smiling over at Sherlock. He met her eyes and gave her a very slight upturn to his lips, close to a smirk.

"So," John began after a moment, his eyes moving between his two friends curiously, "What's this all about, then?"

"Having fun," Sherlock replied, shrugging as he remained by the door.

"Fun?"

"While I can. Amelia was practically falling asleep…"

"I was not!" Amelia cut in indignantly. He turned to give her a look, which instantly made her deflate slightly, sighing, "Okay, so I _was_ rather bored, I'll admit, not that you were much better…" she added quickly, lifting her finger up to point at him accusingly.

John smiled, looking amused, while Sherlock actually had the nerve to smirk at her. He went to respond, only there was a knock on the living room door, drawing their attention, just as Hopkins swung it open and stepped inside with a dark yellow folder clutched to her chest. The moment she caught sight of Amelia, she almost seemed to sigh in relief.

"Uh, Amelia…" she began eagerly, taking a step towards Amelia, who slipped off the armrest and rose…only Sherlock quickly stepped into Hopkins path before she could move towards Amelia.

"Borgia Pearl, boring!" he declared, grabbing Hopkins by her upper arms and spinning her back around and pushing her towards the door, "Go!"

"Uh, but, uh…"

"Sherlock!" Amelia huffed, giving him a stern glare and marching over to the door. He stopped with a large, impatient sigh with his hands still holding Hopkins shoulders, Hopkins halfway over the threshold by now, "She's_ my_ DI working _my_ case, you can't chuck her out!" she lightly whacked his side, which did actually make him grunt, for once.

"But it's just a pearl!" he groaned, rolling his eyes and throwing her an annoyed look. He did, however, let go of Hopkins to turn around to face Amelia fully, "Who cares? It's boring, Amelia! It's not worth your time, and it's certainly not worth _mine_".

Amelia gave him an unwavering look, eyes narrowed sharply as she crossed her arms across her chest, "Good thing it's not your case, then, isn't it?" she said with sickly sweet smile, which didn't match the look in her eyes, "Now, shut up and let me handle this," Sherlock heaved a loud sigh and made a point of stepping away, Amelia noted that he was very careful to not look at the smirk John had on his face, watching the two of them. She smiled widely and turned to Hopkins, who went to open her mouth hurriedly, looking more relieved than ever, "Having said all that, Hopkins, I am afraid that we're a tad busy right now," she reached for the doorhandle, Hopkins eyes widening in alarm, "I'll text you with a time later. Bye!"

And with that, she swung the door shut on Hopkins's face, only feeling a little bad for the woman. She'd keep for a while, Amelia had already gone over the case and she knew it certainly wasn't going to take Scotland Yard one afternoon to break the case, her, on the other hand, was a different story. But the pearl had been missing for a long while now; it could wait another day or two.

"You're busy?" John lifted an eyebrow at Amelia as she turned around to face the room, Sherlock actually looked quite amused.

She shrugged, "Well, I don't want Scotland Yard to think that they're in charge," she replied lightly, looking far from concerned.

Just then, the living room door flew open again and Lestrade stepped through, holding his own file in his hand. Amelia lifted an eyebrow at him, he must truly be determined today if he hadn't already left with Hopkins after seeing her being told to go, he must have something good up his sleeve…she hoped. Sherlock looked far from happy to see him, however, closing his eyes in exasperation.

"Oh, this had better be good," he turned towards Lestrade, opening his eyes to fix him with a sharp look.

Lestrade smiled very slightly, looking between Amelia and Sherlock, "Oh, I think you'll like it," he said confidently, and from between the closed file he removed a plastic evidence bag, holding it up for them to clearly see shattered pieces of a white, plaster bust. Some of the pieces were quite large, allowing them to easily see that it had once been a bust of Thatcher.

"Okay," Amelia eyed the bag curiously, reaching out to take it from Lestrade, Sherlock edging closer to see it for himself, "This _is _interesting".

"That is the bust, isn't it?" John remarked lightly, gesturing to it with his hand holding his cup, "The one that was broken".

"No, it isn't," Lestrade shook his head, watching as Sherlock and Amelia took in the contents of the bag with great interest, "It's another one, different owner, different part of town. You were right," he nodded towards Sherlock and Amelia, though neither so much as flickered their gaze up from the bag Amelia held between them as he continued, "This is a…this is a thing. Something's going on," he looked between the silent detectives as Sherlock gently took the bag from Amelia's grasp, looking down at it intently, almost seeming to have completely shut out the rest of the world around him. Lestrade frowned faintly, a hint of confusion crossing his features, "What's wrong?" he questioned, when still no one spoke, "I thought you'd be pleased, well, at least _one _of you would be…"

"I _am_ pleased," Sherlock said instantly, cutting him off without taking his focused gaze off the bag.

"You don't _look _pleased".

"This is my game face," he replied, finally lifting his eyes from the bag, his lips curling into an almost smug smirk, "And the game is on".

Amelia watched him turn and walk away from them, heading into the kitchen without so much as glancing at them with the evidence bag grasped in his hand, her eyebrows raised, "And he says he _isn't_ a drama queen," she scoffed slightly, shaking her head as she moved to follow him, finding him already settling himself before his microscope that sat on what was supposed to be the kitchen table, though it functioned more like Sherlock's personal lab more than anything else.

Sherlock barely paid them any mind as John and Lestrade soon joined them, Amelia moving to stand with her back leaning against the kitchen counter along the right hand side of the room, watching Sherlock as he delicately used a pair of metal tweezers to remove a fragment of the plaster bust from the depths of the bag, placing it in a small, glass, rounded dish that he then set beneath the scope of the microscope, peering down at it through the device. She observed him for a few more moments, admiring the look of complete focus he wore, concentrating fully on the microscope, his lips pressed together and his eyes sharp and narrowed very slightly. It wasn't a look she was unfamiliar seeing on him, but she did think that he looked quite handsome when he was in his element like this. _God_…she might as well start doodling little love hearts and blissfully scrawling 'Mrs Sherlock Holmes' across a diary right now, she certainly sounded lovesick enough.

"So, Lestrade…" she cleared her throat, turning her gaze onto the other man, who lingered silently by the end of the table before the open sliding door between the kitchen and living room, "How many mysteriously destroyed busts is this now?"

"Well," Lestrade began, glancing briefly back over to Sherlock, who remained seemingly completely focused on the microscope, "There's been another two smashed since the Welsborough one," he told them, making her give him a curious look, "One belonging to Mr Mohandes Hassan…"

"Identical busts?" John cut in from across the table from Lestrade, his arms crossed across his chest.

"Yeah," he nodded, and threw another quick look over towards the piece Sherlock was examining, "And this one to a Doctor Barnicot in Holborn. Three in total…" he lifted his left arm up and shook back his shirt and coat sleeve, checking his watch as he spoke, "God knows who'd wanna do something like this".

Amelia eyed him curiously, noting how he seemed slightly distracted by his wristwatch. Lestrade was never usually so impatient to finish up a consultation with them, and judging by how he had just checked his watch, even just briefly, he was quite eager to get on with this meeting and get on with whatever else he had lined up later on in the day. Actually, now that she considered him more carefully, he seemed to have taken a little more care in his appearance today, he had shaved this morning and, if her nose wasn't mistaken, he was even wearing cologne, though it was slightly over powered by the slight hint of formaldehyde that had seemingly been spilt onto his clothing…or skin, at some point in the past few hours since arriving at work. _Ah_…that explained it; she barely held back her knowing smirk, instead forcing herself to turn her attention back onto the matter at hand. Lestrade's love life, though a nice reprieve, ought not to be her main focus right now, after all.

"Yeah, well," John was saying, looking thoughtful as he considered what Lestrade had told them thus far, "Some people have that complex, don't they? An idée fixe?" he looked directly across to Sherlock as he said that with a rather pointed look, while Sherlock remained intently examining the shard of plaster, seemingly ignoring them all, "They obsess over one thing and they can't let it go".

"Some more so then others," Amelia commented with an amused smile, also looking over to Sherlock with a knowing expression, "Are you still with us, Sherlock?" she lifted an eyebrow.

"No, no good," Sherlock said, oblivious, as usual, to what his friends were trying to subtly say about his behaviour. He was still completely wrapped up in the microscope, while Amelia and John exchanged a look filled with a mixture of fondness and amusement, "There were other images of Margaret…" he paused suddenly and lifted his head very slightly, his eyes snapping up to look at Amelia, dubious, "_Margret_?"

"Don't try to be cute, Holmes," she told him with a faintly scolding tone, while John simply looked exasperated. She was smiling, however, giving Sherlock an almost teasing look as his expression seemed to lighten very slightly and an almost playful glimmer appeared in his gaze, regarding her almost fondly, or as close to fondness as he would allow John or Lestrade to witness him looking in front of them, "You know exactly who she is, let's not be asinine. It really doesn't suit you".

His lips lifted very slightly, before he swiftly turned his attention back onto the microscope and reached for the tweezers he had left sitting beside it on the table, "…Thatcher present at the first break-in," he went on as though nothing had happened, though for the faint upturn to his lips or lightness to his tone, anyone else who hadn't witnessed the exchanged might have thought so too as he used the tweezers to pick up another piece of plaster, "Why would a monomaniac fixate on just one? Ooh!" he suddenly cooed, his eyebrow rising in interest as he eyed the piece of plaster he had just picked up in the tweezers.

"What?" John asked curiously as Amelia straightened from her leaning against the kitchen counter, looking quite interested now, too, hopeful that they might actually find something.

"Blood," he replaced the new, bloody piece with the other piece of plaster that had sat beneath the scope of the microscope, peering down through the lens at it as Amelia edged closer to the table, "Quite a bit of it, too," he glanced up and over to Lestrade, "Was there any injury at the crime scene?"

"Nah," Lestrade shook his head, before checking his watch once again. Amelia had to stop herself from commenting on it, though this time amusement did cross her features.

Sherlock looked away thoughtfully and caught Amelia's eye, "Then our suspect must have cut themselves breaking the bust," he smirked very slightly, and Amelia couldn't help returning it with a small smile of her own. He plucked the piece of bust up from the dish and grabbed for a smaller plastic, zip-lock bag, dropping the piece into it, "Come on," he didn't even bother to glance at John and Lestrade as he closed up the bag and dropped the tweezers on the table.

Lestrade blinked, giving him a confused look, "Holborn?"

"Lambeth," he corrected instantly, making no move to actually stand. Even Amelia looked slightly confused by that reply, eyeing Sherlock with a curious look as John seemed just as blank, evidently just as clueless as Lestrade or Amelia.

"Um, Sherlock," Amelia frowned, still watching him closely, "Would you please explain why we're going to Lambeth? I_ hate_ to be the one to point this out, but we can't actually read your mind…"

"To see Toby".

Amelia very nearly groaned aloud, settling on closing her eyes in exasperation and shaking her head, because naturally Sherlock Holmes would think that explained everything perfectly clearly, but sadly, no, even she was completely clueless about just who Toby was supposed to be. Sherlock, after all, wasn't in the habit of introducing her to people…actually, had he introduced her to anyone? She was almost positive he hadn't.

"Ah, right," John nodded, as though he understood just who Sherlock was speaking of. Amelia threw him a quick look, when he frowned and turned back to eye Sherlock, "_Who_?" he questioned, just as blankly as Lestrade and Amelia.

Sherlock smirked, glancing up to them briefly, "You'll see".

Amelia narrowed her eyes on him, crossing her arms across her chest, "You're really enjoying this," she accused, which Sherlock didn't even bother deny, throwing her an even wider smirk and something close to a teasing look, which might have annoyed her from anyone else, but from him, it only made her excited to see what he might have up his sleeve next. She smiled and glanced over to Lestrade, catching him checking his watch again, and rolled her eyes fondly, "I would ask if you'll be joining us, Lestrade, but I see that you're busy".

Lestrade looked up from his watch with a slightly startled expression, seemingly almost alarmed that he had been caught out. John, however, seemed slightly puzzled by what was going on, looking between Amelia's growing smug smile and Lestrade's wide eyes, while Sherlock also seemed rather amused by the scene unfolding before him, throwing the Detective Inspector a knowing look.

"Er, what's going on?" he asked curiously.

"Lestrade's got a lunch date with a brunet forensic officer that he doesn't want to be late for," Sherlock said lightly, standing from his chair and grabbing his blazer from where he had draped it over the back of the chair, pulling it on as he turned to eye Lestrade.

Lestrade looked taken aback, though after all these years, Amelia really couldn't understand why he still seemed surprised by them noticing anything, "Who told you?" he almost demanded, staring at him.

"Oh, honestly, Lestrade," Amelia rolled her eyes, shaking her head at him, almost as though she was disappointed in him. He blinked and looked over to her, "No one told us, your near obsessive checking of your watch, freshly shaved face and newly bought cologne, which is being covered up mostly by the formaldehyde you unfortunately got on yourself recently was more than enough information to go off…" she smirked suddenly, while Lestrade almost gaped at her and John leaned slightly closer towards the man, sniffing him curiously, before throwing Amelia a quick glance, "Oh, by the way, you also have some of your lady love's hair on your sleeve…"

He blinked and looked down at his sleeve, finding a couple of long, dark brown strands of hair were indeed stuck to the fabric of his coat. Amelia simply smiled widely, looking quite pleased with herself and feeling rather happy, too, while Sherlock's mouth lifted slightly as he finished fixing his collar, casting Amelia a look that almost looked proud.

"Have a good time," he wished the man, who continued to look rather shocked.

"I will," Lestrade said as he shook his head, seemingly shaking away his surprise. He glanced at John and gave him a small nod, before turning to head towards the kitchen door leading out onto the landing.

Sherlock, however, wasn't done, though he didn't spare the other man a glance as he grabbed his phone from the table and began typing something into it, "Trust me, though," he said after him, "She's not right for you".

Lestrade paused in the doorway and turned back towards them, "What?" he frowned.

"She's not the one," he raised his voice slightly, turning with his phone still in his hands to look over to Lestrade, giving him a brief look before going back to his typing. Amelia raised an eyebrow at Sherlock.

He looked slightly thrown for a moment, "Well, thank you, Mystic Meg," he said sarcastically, giving him one last frown and glancing over to Amelia, who shook her head and simply gave him an encouraging smile, which seemed to cheer him up a little as he turned to leave, disappearing out onto the landing.

Amelia turned her attention onto Sherlock, eyeing him curiously, "Since when did you become such a dating expert?" she narrowed her eyes on him, crossing her arms across her chest again. She really couldn't see how Sherlock could have deduced that Lestrade and his new girlfriend weren't going to work out; she couldn't tell that by looking at Lestrade, seeing them together, maybe, but not Lestrade on his own. Sherlock was good, but even he wasn't that good.

Sherlock was still tapping away on his phone, not even glancing up, "Since I deduced that she has three children in Rio that he doesn't know about," he informed them in a hushed voice, finally lifting his gaze up from the device to look at Amelia and John.

Amelia barely held back her scoff, while John sighed, "Are you just making this up?" he stared at Sherlock, looking caught between exasperation and curiosity.

"Possibly," he admitted, lowering the phone and turning to walk back through into the living room.

"More like _completely _making it up," Amelia corrected with a shake of her head, trailing after him into the living room and moving to grab her black Dolce&Gabbana handbag from the top of the coffee table, little red flowers covering the front of the bag as she grasped the slim, black leather handle. She glanced over to John, who had followed after them, still looking a little lost, "You can't tell something like that from a look of _one_ of the couple…"

"_Well_…" Sherlock said over his shoulder, already moving towards the door, throwing her an almost smug look.

She instantly fixed him with a stern look, "_No_, Sherlock," she said firmly, pointing one finger at him, "You can't, and would you please stop being so bloody mysterious? Where are we going? Who is this Toby we _suddenly_ must see?"

He paused in the doorway of the living room and turned back towards them, flashing her a positively infuriating smirk, as if to say that she'd find out soon enough, before turning on his heel and disappearing out the door. Amelia huffed slightly, while John sighed, glancing at her.

"Sometimes you really could just push him down the stairs, couldn't you?" John commented lightly, giving her an almost sympathetic look.

She smiled faintly, meeting his eyes, "Don't give me ideas, John".

….

They took a cab to Lambeth to meet up with the mysterious Toby that Sherlock seemed to be enjoying keeping to himself, much to Amelia's annoyance, since she hated the fact that she simply couldn't deduce just who this Toby was supposed to be or what task he might be able to help perform for them, since it was obviously someone that Sherlock consulted with in relation to a skill set that he, himself, did not possess. That, in itself narrowed down the field slightly as she sat between John and Sherlock in the back seat of the cab, watching only distractedly as the London streets passed them by, her mind buzzing with thoughts, trying to figure it out…eventually, she had to give Sherlock a look of defeat.

"Okay," she sighed heavily, almost looking physically pained as Sherlock looked across to her, his eyebrows raised and a small smile playing across his thin lips, "I admit it, I can't figure out who this Toby is, would you kindly put me out of my misery and just explain?"

"You make it sound as though I was doing this on purpose, Amelia".

"You know you were," she huffed, barely resisting the urge to lightly whack his arm with his hand, really disliking that smug, knowing look he had in his eyes as he peered mock innocently at her, as though he couldn't see how he was irritating her right now by keeping her in the dark. She narrowed her eyes, realisation hitting her suddenly, "Oh…I see," she nodded slowly, looking away from him, rolling her eyes, "This is for the whole balloon thing this morning, isn't it? You know that I can't stand being kept in the dark like this, it's practically my form of torture".

"Seriously, Sherlock?" John shook his head from Amelia's right, still watching outside his window, though evidently listening to what was going on between his two best friends. He finally pulled his gaze off the window to look past Amelia to Sherlock, giving him a look, "Isn't that a little childish, even for you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, John," Sherlock replied with little concern, still maintaining his innocent act as Amelia scoffed loudly. He smirked, his gaze lingering on Amelia with an almost victorious glimmer in his eyes, clearly feeling rather proud of himself and feeling as though he had managed to get back at her, at least, for the whole embarrassment over the balloon, John, however, was still on his list. However, as much as he enjoyed watching Amelia's annoyance rise and seeing her dark eyes narrow on him like a laser, he wasn't foolish enough to actually truly upset her, he did have to live and sleep in the same bed as the woman, not to mention the other privileges that that allowed that would be revoked if he made her to cross with him, so as much as it was amusing to watch her try to deduce who they were seeing and why, he had to take the victory and let the matter drop. He turned his eyes away from her, looking towards the front of the car, "There's a kid I know," he explained suddenly, changing the subject, "Hacker, _brilliant _hacker, one of the world's best. He got himself into serious trouble with the Americans a couple of years ago. He hacked into the Pentagon's security system, and I managed to get him off the charge. Therefore he owes me a favour".

Amelia stared at him in disbelief and mild shock, only vaguely aware of the cab pulling up outside the front of an old, dark brick building in a rather ordinary looking street, the overcast sky causing everything to look a little gloomy. It really did surprise her how many different people Sherlock managed to get favours from, from all different walks of life, as well; in fact she thought it was rather impressive. She certainly hadn't had people like that when she had been working on her own, it would have certainly been useful. She shook her head as John opened his door and climbed out onto the cracked, grey pavement before sliding out after him, Sherlock following suit while John automatically moved to pay for the cab. The car pulled away once receiving the payment and John joined Amelia and Sherlock before the slightly scratched and chipped black front door of the brick house, just as Sherlock reached up to grasp the door knocker and rapped it twice sharply against the old wood, before stepping back beside Amelia.

"So…" John began, while they waited for the door to be answered, "How does that help us?"

Sherlock looked at him in confusion, "What?"

"Toby the hacker," he clarified.

He smiled very faintly, regarding both Amelia and John's curious expressions, almost as though he was amused, "Toby's not the hacker," he told them simply, causing them to both blink and exchange a puzzled look between them.

Amelia sighed, reaching up to lightly press her fingers against her forehead, "Okay, I'm lost again," she groaned, growing quite exasperated by Sherlock's seeming enjoyment of still keeping them in the dark, even while somehow managing to tell them what was going on. It didn't help that she could tell that he really was enjoying watching them try to figure out what was going on.

Sherlock's small smile grew even wider, almost smug, just as the door clicked open and a very tall and large man stepped into view, curly brown hair falling past the collar of his rumpled red flannel shirt and a pair of brown framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he took them in briefly. Amelia gave him a polite smile as she quickly scanned him, slightly confused, since the man standing before her was very obviously a computer hacker, judging by the creases in his clothing that indicated that he spent much of his time sitting and the tired, bloodshot eyes of a man who spent much of his time staring at a screen and forgoing sleep, not to mention the slight curve of his shoulders, indicating again that he spent a lot of time sitting hunched over a computer. What the hell was Sherlock talking about? If this wasn't Toby the hacker, then were they supposed to be seeing this man's roommate, another hacker?

"All right, Craig?" Sherlock greeted the man oddly friendly and happily, turning his large smile onto him.

"All right, Sherlock," the other man replied with a smile in return, flickering his gaze over John and Amelia, focusing on her with recognition that took Amelia by surprise, "You must be Amelia, Sherlock's girlfriend. He's told me about you".

"He did?" Amelia blinked slowly in slight bafflement and amazement, throwing Sherlock a quick look, struggling to fully believe that Sherlock had actually been talking about her to other people and telling them that they were dating. It wasn't like it was a secret or anything, far from it, but Sherlock still wasn't the type of bloke who would go around talking about his girlfriend, in fact, she found it hard to imagine him even mentioning her by name to anyone. What on Earth was happening? Sherlock being friendly towards someone else, Sherlock apparently talking about her to the same person…Craig was too young to have gone to school with Sherlock, so they couldn't be childhood friends…

Sherlock pretended not to notice the look she was giving him, instead, still smiling happily and with a curious sort of excitement in his eyes, he lowered his gaze down towards Craig's legs, "Craig's got a dog!" he said brightly, just as a large, dopey looking brown and black patched bloodhound came slowly wondering out past Crag's legs, dragging a black leather lead over the ground as it approached them.

"So I see," John remarked in slight surprise and confusion, peering down at the dog with a small frown, before glancing questioningly over to Amelia, who could only narrow her eyes slightly in suspicion and turn to eye Sherlock.

Sherlock laughed in delight, his face lit up like a six year old on Christmas morning as he immediately bent down towards the dog, "Good boy!" he practically cheered, cheerfully patting the dog's massive head and scratching his ears, while the dog peered up at him with big, sleepy brown eyes and lapped it up.

Amelia smiled faintly, amused by how animated Sherlock had instantly become just at the mere sight of the dog, seemingly completely focusing on it. It made her immediately want to rush out and get a dog for themselves, perhaps not quite as big as bloodhound, since she rather liked the idea of having something that could curl up on her lap in the evenings, seeing Sherlock's eager, excited smile and bright eyes right now, she didn't think it would be hard to get him to agree to the idea, either. Her smile only grew as the dog turned its shinny, wet nose towards her and began sniffing her hand curiously, before licking it with one giant tongue that made both her and Sherlock laugh.

"Ooh, you're lovely, aren't you?" she cooed down at the dog, who she assumed must be the mysterious Toby, and reached down to rub his smooth, soft ears, not minding the dog saliva on her hand, nor that she was probably going to end up with little bits of hair over her black trousers. She had always been an animal lover, ever since she was very little she remembered adoring animals, horses were her favourite, though dogs were practically tied with them most of the time. Cats…well, Molly's cat was alright, but most of them tended to make her a little wary.

"Hiya!" a bright, cheerful voice almost startled her, having been so caught up in the dog that she was rather startled to look up and find that Mary had suddenly appeared in the doorway of the house, smiling widely with baby Rosie held on her hip, dressed in a pink, fluffy bunny jumpsuit. They had obviously already been in the house before they had arrived, but judging by the look of complete shock on John's face as Mary stepped down onto the footpath before them, he hadn't known that she was there anymore then Amelia had.

"Mary," John stared at his wife and daughter, wide eyed, "What are you…?" he shook his head as he automatically held his hands up, as if to take Rosie, frowning faintly as some of the surprise seemed to fade, "No, we…we agreed we would never bring Rosie out on a case".

"No, exactly, so…" Mary nodded, still smiling as she lifted Rosie up and passed her across to John, who took her with a deep frown still on his face, while Rosie cooed loudly. Mary gave him an oddly cheerful smile, seemingly ignoring John's slightly disgruntled attitude, "…don't wait up. Hey, Sherlock, Amelia," she turned towards the detectives.

"Hey," Sherlock looked up from Toby, who he had been happily patting, now firmly grasping the end of the leash in his hand as he straightened.

"This is a nice surprise," Amelia said happily with a broad smile towards Mary, before ducking slightly so that she could try and get level with Rosie, the baby greeting her with a brilliant, toothless grin and dribble, making the brunet laugh, "Aww, look at you, little bunny," she leaned closer to the baby, who instantly tried grabbing at her long, dangling earrings, thankfully Rosie wasn't quite coordinated enough to actually get close to grabbing them yet.

John, however, was still frowning deeply at his wife, "But...Mary, what are you doing here?" he questioned, glancing slightly in confusion over towards Sherlock, and back to Mary, who simply tucked her hands inside her jacket pockets and looked over to the curly haired man with a knowing look.

"She's better at this then you," Sherlock said rather bluntly, glancing back down at the dog, still absently patting his back.

"Better?" he blinked, turning an offended glare onto him.

"So I texted her".

"Hang on…" he shook his head, narrowing his eyes slightly on his ex-flatmate, while Mary smiled widely, looking rather flattered, and Amelia struggled to hold back an amused look at the expression on John's face as he grew increasingly offended, "Mary's better than me?"

"_Well_…" Amelia began with a teasing tone, dragging the word out longer then needed as John's eyes snapped onto her. She smirked slyly, "Mary _is_ the ex-super spy, who has some pretty amazing skills that are just simply going to waste, you don't honestly expect her to stay at home and play doting housewife, do you?" she lifted a slightly critical eyebrow at John, who was almost gaping at her, looking almost betrayed by her obvious teasing. Apparently, he seemed to have expected her to be on his side, though she really couldn't understand what would have given him that impression, since she wasn't about to miss a chance to tease him, "Shame on you, John," she mock waggled a finger at her, still smirking wickedly as she did so, barely allowing him a chance to splutter, "Shame on you".

"I…that's not…" he pressed his lips together tightly and closed his eyes in exasperation, tilting his head back slightly with an almost pained sigh, seemingly realising that he really didn't have a chance trying to defend himself against not just Amelia's playful teasing, but Mary's amused grin and Sherlock's slight smile, "Yeah," he eventually muttered, finally opening his eyes again in defeat, "Okay".

Sherlock, just to pile it on all the more, "Nothing personal," he added a little too lightly, throwing John a small flash of a smile as he continued lightly patting Toby by his legs.

John shook his head with a small glare towards Amelia and Sherlock, Amelia was still smirking and held a teasing glint to her dark eyes, regarding him with obvious enjoyment of watching him squirm, while Sherlock seemed to be busy petting the dog again, though they all knew he was listening. He sighed, glancing at Mary as he adjusted Rosie slightly in his arms, "What, so I'm supposed to just go home now, am I?" he asked with a slightly lost frown.

Mary smiled, almost mockingly as she looked back across to Sherlock and Amelia, "Oh, what do you think, Sherlock, Amelia?" she raised an eyebrow at them, glancing back to John with a playful, mock sympathetic look, "Shall we take him with us?"

"Hmm," Amelia considered it with a great air of thoughtfulness, eyeing John, "Well, he is rather sweet and I have to admit, it's hard to resist those sad eyes…"

"John or the dog, Amelia?" Sherlock cut in innocently, looking back up to her with a positively cheeky smile, one that she rarely ever got to see him use, but one that instantly made him look years younger and his pale blue eyes instantly brighter, with a mischievous light in them that made her heart beat just a little bit faster.

Amelia immediately laughed, which only made him look even happier and almost smug at having succeeded in getting a giggle out of her, while John laughed sarcastically, narrowing his eyes into a sharp glare at the detectives.

"Ha, ha," he said with little humour, looking rather close to wanting to kick one of them, he probably would have, if he wasn't holding Rosie, "That's funny".

"I thought it was," Amelia remarked brightly, completely ignoring his sarcasm and glare, grinning widely at him as he shot her a dark look.

"Yeah, well, Amelia you can just go and…"

Mary cleared her throat loudly, cutting off John's no doubt colourful language as she looked between Sherlock and Amelia, "I say we take John," she told them, while Amelia continued to smirk teasingly back at John, knowing perfectly well that whatever he was about to say that she could go and do, was most certainly not language that little Rosie ought to be hearing, but it was certainly amusing to her.

Sherlock paused, looking mock thoughtful, "_Well_…" he pretended to consider it, throwing John another teasing look.

"He's handy and loyal".

"I suppose he does have a rather cute nose," Amelia added with a considerate nod, barely resisting the temptation to really push her luck and reach out and tap his nose with her fingertip, but she hadn't quite forgotten that time Sherlock had practically ordered John to punch him and then almost ended up being strangled by John after it had escalated quite a bit. Now, she was positive John wasn't about to start trying to strangle her or anything, not like with Sherlock that time, but she also wouldn't put it passed him to find some means of getting back at her…he might even convince Mary to help him, and then she'd really be in trouble.

"That's hilarious," John looked between Mary and Amelia with another glare, his tone flat, "No, seriously, both of you are just _so_ funny".

"Mm," Sherlock hummed, smiling widely as he regarded John.

John sighed loudly, turning towards Mary, "Is it too early for a divorce?" he asked her jokingly.

"Aww!" Mary cooed back at him with a big, teasing smile, and playfully pointed back to herself, as if to say 'Really? Divorce _me_?'.

"Oh, you know we only tease because we're so fond of you, John," Amelia reassured him, laughing faintly as she reached out to lightly pat his arm, pleased that he hadn't taken any of their teasing to heart and had a good enough sense of humour to know that it was all said as friendly banter. Many others might not have taken it nearly as well as John had.

"Yeah, thanks for that, Amelia. I _really_ feel the love".

Sherlock smirked at that, watching briefly as Amelia stuck her tongue out at John, the childish gesture not at all fitting in with the sophisticated style of dress and makeup she wore, but at least it earned a giggle from Rosie, who seemed to think it was funny and a fond eye roll from John. He shook his head and cleared his throat, gaining all of their attention.

"Barnicot's house, then," he reminded them slightly pointedly, evidently trying to be the one to get them back on track, lifting an eyebrow, "Anyone up for a trudge?" he turned and began to walk Toby along beside him off down the footpath, throwing back over his shoulder to them as the dog barked excitedly at the prospect of a walk, "Keep up. He's fast".

Amelia wasn't entirely sure she believed him, but was happy to be proven wrong this time, if it meant that they managed to actually catch a lead on the strange case they found themselves dealing with…however, she was far from shocked when she was proven right just a few minutes later when Toby suddenly decided that he'd had enough walking and dropped down onto the footpath just down the road from Craig's house, next to a park and a red telephone box. Mary, who had taken the lead shortly into their journey from Sherlock, stood beside the dog, looking rather bored off into the distance as she absently scratched Toby's head, while Sherlock looked intently down at the dog and Amelia and John exchanged a look as the minutes ticked by with little sign of Toby ever getting up again. In fact, only Rosie seemed relatively happy, strapped to John's front in a papoose and occasionally gargling baby nonsense. Amelia, sighing heavily, closed her eyes and tilted her head back towards the grey sky, wishing that they could at least enjoy the sun while they wait, but no, of course not, because this was London and the sun seemed even less inclined to make an appearance today then Toby seemed inclined to track anything.

Finally, after a long stretch of silence, John looked over to Sherlock with a frown, "He's not moving," he rather unnecessarily pointed out, dropping his gaze down onto the dog, who remained on the ground by Mary's feet.

"He's thinking," Sherlock replied instantly, almost a little defensively as he continued to peer intently at Toby, his hands tucked into his pockets of his coat.

Amelia barely contained an eye roll, "Thank God you can read Toby's mind, Sherlock," she said sarcastically, growing a little impatient to get a move on with the investigation, even if Toby's big brown eyes made it impossible for her to get too annoyed. She didn't blame him, anyway, no she was blaming Sherlock, who seemed perfectly content to stand idle all afternoon and stare at the dog as though he held all the answers. She crossed her arms across her chest, her blazer starting to provide her little warmth in the increasingly cooling air as evening neared quickly, "And here I thought we just looked silly standing around here all afternoon, it's nice to know that we're not disrupting Toby's delicate thinking process".

Sherlock barely even flickered her gaze over to her, "You should have worn a coat, Amelia," he commented with little sympathy.

She narrowed her eyes on him, "Your care for my well being is _positively_ heart warming, Holmes," she huffed slightly, dropping her gaze back down onto Toby, who gave a small whine as Mary continued to absently stroke his head.

John eyed the dog for a moment longer, before shaking his head when still Toby made little move to stand, "He's _really_ not moving," he glanced at Sherlock again.

"Slow but sure, John, not dissimilar to yourself".

He frowned and looked thoughtfully down at Toby, before lifting his accusing gaze back onto Sherlock, who remained almost as still as a stature, "You just like this dog, don't you?" he pointed back down to Toby, making Amelia laugh faintly.

Sherlock blinked slightly, finally looking over to him, "Well, I like _you_".

"Seriously, Sherlock?" Amelia groaned slightly, looking caught between fondness and exasperation, "At this rate, it would have been better to go to a pet shop, at least then we wouldn't be in danger of being accused of loitering".

"We're working a case, Amelia".

"Really? Because I feel more like we're just standing around, waiting for _something _to happen, though to be fair that_ is_ our life in general".

Sherlock narrowed his eyes on Amelia with mild annoyance, not that she seemed to care as she tugged her blazer tighter around her middle. If they were moving, she knew she'd warm up quickly, but standing around like this wasn't exactly helping to get the blood flowing or her body temperature up. But still they waited, silence falling over them again…

"He's still not moving," Mary said tiredly, her eyes still holding a rather distant, unfocused look as she stared off into space.

Instantly, Sherlock looked back down at Toby, his eyes actually brightening slightly, "Fascinating," he murmured with obvious interest as he eyed the dog, making Mary sigh loudly in exasperation and Amelia coverer her eyes with her hand, barely resisting screaming in frustration, mainly for the sake of Rosie.

"That's it," she dropped the hand from her face and moved to take the lead from Mary, who let her with little complaint. Sherlock frowned in puzzlement as he watched her loop the end of the leash around her wrist and fingers a couple of times, just to make sure that Toby couldn't get free if he did decide to just take off, before lifting her eyes up to glare at Sherlock, "I am not standing here another second longer, action is required. Come on, Toby," she perked her voice up slightly, making it a bit higher and more exciting as she lightly tugged at the leash, "Come on, boy, walkies…"

Much to all of their surprise, save for Amelia, Toby actually responded to her urging and slowly climbed onto his feet, seeming content to allow her to lead him off down the footpath as he almost immediately began sniffing at the pavement as they went. Sherlock, Mary, and John quickly moved to trail after the pair as Amelia kept a brisk pace, and pretty soon, just as they were approaching a intersection, Toby suddenly began pulling her off towards the right, his nose still down at ground level, when he began picking up the pace until he was half running down the street, Amelia jogging along beside him to keep up, so very grateful that she had gone with the flats today and not the Louboutin's. Thankfully, after a short while she managed to reign him in a little so that she didn't end up getting to tired, but he still continued pulling her onwards through the streets, up and down one after another, even doing an almost loop at one point. She barely held back a small groan as Toby began running again as they were passing by a large church, forcing her back into a quick jog just a few steps behind him, her fingers arching slightly from the leather of the lead digging into her flesh…but at least she wasn't chilly any more.

"He's definitely found the scent of our suspect," she called back over her shoulder to the boys and Mary, her shoes slapping against the pavement as she went.

"It would seem so," Sherlock remarked from a few steps behind her, the sound of her companions own shoes pounding against the concrete filling the air, "Three breaks ins with nothing taken in a matter of a few weeks, only a burst, the _exact_ same bust of Thatcher, smashed to bits…" he paused for a moment, seemingly allowing them to all consider his words, though Amelia was a little busy just trying not to trip herself up to really be listening to intently, "Well?" he asked, though who he was speaking to wasn't completely clear to Amelia with her back to him, "What do you make of it?"

"They were looking for something," Mary said, just as Toby turned and began leading them off down a dirt path through a park, Amelia and her companions keeping pace with him.

"Yes, but it wasn't a burglar," he told her, and Amelia could just picture the frown he must be wearing, his eyes slightly narrowed in thought, "They came specifically for that Thatcher bust. Why?"

No one could possibly answer, but Amelia did allow herself the chance to think it over as Toby finally slowed as they began heading off down another series of streets. The suspect had to be looking for something, something that somehow related back to the same bust, but in what way? The obvious answer to her was that whatever it was, it must be inside the bust, but the suspect didn't know which one, so they were targeting anyone who had the same bust…but what could that thing be? Why were they so desperate to get it back that they had taken such a great risk to enter people's homes? And how did this object come to be inside the busts in the first place? These thoughts swirled through her mind as Toby led them straight into the middle of the Borough Market, pulling them deeper through the market, ignoring stall after stall and the number of busy shoppers, some who paused to give the bloodhound a quick look. He led them onwards and towards the meat section of the market, where he suddenly came to a stop just by the edge of a very large puddle of animal blood that had sawdust thrown through it, trying to soak it up. All around them, people bustled around, some carrying pig carcasses over their shoulders from cool storage, while other's used massive knives to cut up chunks of meat from straight off the bone. Toby whined softly from beside Amelia's legs as they watched for a moment in silence as a man used a wide broom to brush the blood soaked sawdust into a heap to clean up.

"Clever," Sherlock said as he stared down at the blood, looking impressed despite himself.

"Very clever," Amelia agreed, frowning faintly as she eyed the mess thoughtfully, before casting him a sideways glance, "It speaks of possible training, someone who was taught how to cover their tracks with their environment".

"It's what I'd do if I was wounded and knew I was leaving a trail," Mary nodded, making Amelia wave a pointed hand towards her with another look at Sherlock.

John shot his wife a quick glance, before shaking his head, "Like hiding a tree in a forest," he looked back over towards the blood, before casting his eyes around the rest of the market.

"Or blood in a butcher's," Sherlock muttered with narrowed eyes. He sighed after a moment and shook his head, moving around Amelia to crouch down before Toby, gently grasping his large head between his gloves hands, affectionately scratching him behind his ears. Amelia watched with a small, fond smile, "Never mind, Toby," he peered into his eyes, "Better luck next time, hm?" he lifted his head slightly and looked around them, "This is it, though. This is the one," he dropped his hands from Toby, rising from his crouch to catch Amelia's gaze, "I can feel it".

John blinked, his eyes widening slightly in disbelief, "Not Moriarty?" he almost laughed, making Sherlock and Amelia look back over to him.

"It is curious enough to be something James might have planned," Amelia said slowly, though she looked slightly torn as she bit her lip. She looked away from them, her gaze growing unfocused, "He probably would have liked the drama of someone going around smashing those busts, too, but…" she sighed, looking even more uncertain as she pulled her focus back onto her friends, who watched her with different expressions. John looked sympathetic, while Mary curious, but Sherlock was watching her intently with sharp eyes, "_But_…" she repeated, more firmly, "I don't think this is it, Sherlock, I know you do, but I just don't see James doing something like this as his final game. It's intriguing and odd, yes; however, it also doesn't have enough flair to it".

"Amelia, you barely knew Moriarty…" Sherlock reminded her in a tone that said very clearly that he didn't agree with her, regarding her with a deep scowl and a vaguely frustrated tightening to his lips.

"Perhaps not," she cut across him, lifting her chin slightly higher, not planning on backing down on this one, "But he _was _my twin, Holmes, we did grow up together for the first eighteen years of our lives, no one knows his flair for the dramatics better than me," she closed her eyes briefly, before meeting his eyes again, her gaze sharper and firmer than before, "Call it a twins intuition, Sherlock, but I don't believe this is anything to do with James. I just don't".

Sherlock didn't speak, but the look he fixed her with said it all, he didn't agree with her, nor did he think that her so called 'Twin intuition' meant anything, not that Amelia could really blame him for that, since she and James had hardly acted like your typical twins or even like typical siblings, if she was being honest, but she just couldn't shake the feeling that she was right on this one. But there was a time in her life were she and James, while never close, had been brother and sister, had grown up together and shared in that something only they could understand, and that is why she was confident in this. They might have gone their separate ways in later life, but once upon a time, they had been a pair. That had to mean_ something_.

_**How is everyone handling the current quarantine? I really hope you guys, your friends and family are all safe and well. Now, back to the story, Amelia's outfit will be up on my Tumblr and Pinterest, and hopefully it won't take me another nine weeks to get the next chapter up, which already half written as we speak. Speaking of which, coming up Amelia isn't happy to just sit back and do nothing, Sherlock takes a dip, and a little bit of action is required. I hope you guys liked it, please stay safe and keep up with social distancing and hand washing. Please review :)**_

_**Guest review:**_

_**Izzy (Chapter 1): **__**Aww, thank you so much, I'm delighted that you like the story. Reviews are certainly very helpful and motivating for every writer, I think, but it's not really the reason for why I continue writing, they do make my day, though, but it doesn't really bother me if one story gets more reviews then another, besides, in my experience the first story in a series tends to have the least number of reviews anyway. **_

_**Well, I write the stories I want to read, and I just never could find a story for Sherlock that satisfied me enough, that's not to say that there aren't many stories that aren't well written, as I know there are, I just couldn't find the story I specifically craved and so I decided to write it myself. The thing that tends to bother me the most with Sherlock/OC stories is that when I first began looking for Sherlock/OC stories was how quickly the romance happened. Even as a fourteen year old, I just couldn't see Sherlock getting romantically involved with someone by the end of the first season, I just never found a story that made it believable to me that he would fall for someone that quickly, so when I began writing Amelia, I knew right from the start that it was going to take a long time and a lot of development on both of their parts for romance to become a factor. I suppose, what I really wanted, was to try and see if I could write a Sherlock/OC story that felt believable and realistic, and I hope that I have archived that to some degree, mind you, I'd change things if I was starting the series all over again. I also didn't want to write a character who was like a copy of Sherlock or who was some sort of ex-super spy or hacker, I wanted to write a woman who, while still perfectly equal to Sherlock mentally, is in a lot of ways quite normal…not that being a millionaire with ridiculously expensive tastes in clothing is 'Normal'.**_

_**I agree, I enjoyed how they showed John's grief throughout this season, even though it broke my heart watching it and it even made me cry in a few scenes, I'm happy that they didn't just sort of brush over Mary's death and the impact it had on John or Sherlock, for that matter, because we also see Sherlock grieving and I loved the fact that we got to see that grief bring them closer, even though it almost destroyed them. Poor John, indeed. Thanks for the review :)**_


	5. Chapter 5 The Six Thatchers, Part 5

_**The Six Thatcher's, Part 5**_

It was well into the evening before Amelia and Sherlock returned Toby back to his rightful owner, Mary and John having parted from them at the market, leaving the detectives to make the rather long walk back to Craig's house. Sherlock had even kindly given Amelia his coat for the journey, having rolled his eyes almost fondly at the sight of her in the dim, early evening light with her arms wrapped around her middle as they walked, he had even held back making another comment about how she ought to have dressed more practically for the season, rather then what was fashionable. By the time they arrived back at Craig's house, having been unable to get a cab to take them with the rather massive dog, it was completely dark outside. They made arrangements to return in the morning, before heading back to Baker Street for the evening.

Amelia supposed that it had been a rather useful day, or at least she thought it had been as she prepared for their meeting with Craig the following morning, finishing pinning her hair back in a half-up, half-down style so that it fell down her back without actually getting in the way of her face, before pausing to consider her reflection more closely. Her black, short sleeved jumper was tucked into a suead, light brown skirt that was covered in printed flowers and flowed out slightly around the top of her legs, while a pair of nude Louboutin's complimented the outfit. She'd also paired it with a matching brown trench coat and a wicker handbag, along with red lipstick and nails, and rose gold, square shaped stud earrings. They had determined that the person smashing the busts was at least somewhat trained or intelligent enough to know how to cover their tracks, which was something and possibly useful…though, it didn't exactly tell them much more and Sherlock still seemed quite certain it must have something to do with James, something Amelia disagreed with. Time would tell, she supposed.

They left Baker Street by cab and arrived at Craig's shortly after, where the hacker happily greeted them, allowing them into his house where Toby was sleeping soundly on a rather shabby looking dog bed by the heater in the small, messy living room, not even seeming to hear their arrival, much to Sherlock's disappointment as he eyed the dog for a moment, much to Amelia's amusement. But rather then leading them into the room, Craig instead took the detectives upstairs to the top level of the house, which seemed to be his base of operations. A very cluttered, old desk was pushed up against one of the walls, in the corner, while another, just as messy but slightly more modern desk ran along the end wall, with several computer screens running different programs on them set up across two desks. On the other side of the room a very old, saggy looking couch sat facing the desks, covered in bits of discarded clothing and misshapen pillows from years of abuse, while several empty pizza boxes littered other surfaces around the room. Craig politely offered the couch to Amelia and Sherlock, however, they both delicately declined, choosing instead to remain standing behind his chair as he took a seat before the old desk, setting to work tapping away at the keys of his keyboard, most of the lettering and numbers worn away from use and shinning slightly. The air smelt slightly stall, dusty, but with a faint sweetness from soft drink probably being spilt, Amelia imagined as she cast her eyes around the room…and she thought _Sherlock_ kept a messy workspace.

"Have you heard of that thing, in Germany?" Craig asked them after a while of tapping away, his gaze fixed on his computer screen, which had a stream of numbers and lettering running across the screen, complete nonsense to Amelia's eyes.

Sherlock frowned slightly in mild frustration, peering expectedly at the back of his head, "You're going to have to be more specific, Craig," he said pointedly.

"'Ostalgie,'" he explained, shaking his head slightly, "People who miss the old days under the Communists. People are weird, aren't they?"

"Mm," he narrowed his eyes, almost looking puzzled by exactly why they were discussing this right now, though, to be fair he thought the same thing about pretty much everyone.

"People find comfort in a sense of order," Amelia remarked lightly, looking over Craig's head and at the screen, though she couldn't understand what the code was saying. Coding wasn't really something she had ever taken much interest in, she doubted she'd have the patience, "They like a sense of structure, especially if they grew up with it…but, yeah, I can't say I'd fair very well in a Communist society," she pulled a face at the thought, glancing at Sherlock beside her, "I'm far to materialistic".

"About clothing, yes," Sherlock agreed, briefly running his eyes over her, which made her smirk slyly at him as he lifted his gaze back up to her. He caught sight of her smirk and rolled his eyes, clearly knowing that she found it amusing that she had just saw him plainly checking her out, though he would likely deny it and scoff at the mere suggestion. His eyes narrowed into a glare, not taking his gaze off her as he said in slight annoyance, "Craig, have you found anything of relevance or not?"

Craig didn't even seem to notice a thing, still glued to his screen, "Well, according to this," he nodded his head towards the screen, pulling Sherlock and Amelia's attention back over to him, "There's quite a market for Cold War memorabilia…Thatcher, Reagan, Stalin," he smiled slightly, almost seeming amused, "Time's a great leveller, innit? Thatcher's like…I dunno, Napoleon now".

"I'm pretty sure this isn't about collecting the busts," Amelia commented slightly warily, thinking about the broken shards of bust she had seen.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, looking caught between boredom and frustration, "Yes, fascinating, irrelevant, Craig," he said quickly, moving to lean over Craig's shoulder to peer intently at the screen, while Amelia simply watched on, hoping that this whole thing hadn't been just a big waste of time, so far Craig really hadn't provided them with any information about the busts that they didn't already know. Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back, practically looming over poor Craig, "Where exactly did they come from?"

"I've got records of the suppliers…Gelder&Co. Seems they're from Georgia".

Amelia perked up at that, straightening slightly with a suddenly very interested expression, "Georgia the state, or the country?" she asked sharply, and Sherlock cast her a quick, curious frown over his shoulder.

"Uh, Tbilisi," Craig replied, bringing up what appeared to be an shipping form on his screen, Amelia edged closer to get a closer look and Sherlock stepped slightly sideways to give her more room to see, "Batch of six," he continued, seeming oblivious to the look of mounting realisation on Amelia's face, while Sherlock looked between her and the computer, thoughtful, "One to Welsborough, one to Hassan, one to Doctor Barnicot. _Two _to Miss Orrie Harker…" as he read them out, Sherlock's phone began ringing and he quickly fished it out of his pocket, though Amelia was looking off into the distance with unfocused eye, lost in thought as she paid him little mind, "…one to a Mr Jack Sandeford of Reading".

Sherlock answered his phone and lifted it up to his ear, "Lestrade, another one?" he asked in greeting, finally pulling Amelia from her thoughts and she blinked slightly, looking curiously at him. He glanced at her and lowered the phone between them, hitting a button to put the call on speaker.

"Yeah," Lestrade's voice came over, sounding tired, but unsurprised.

"Harker or Sandeford?"

There was a brief pause, Amelia could just picture the look of confusion and disbelief that must be on Lestrade's face right now, it was enough to make her smile, "Harker," he called back, seemingly quickly getting over his surprise, "And it's murder this time".

Amelia raised an eyebrow, not surprised that it seemed as though their suspect had been caught, no doubt during the act of breaking in or perhaps while smashing one of the busts, but it did colour the matter with a slightly different shade, didn't it? It meant now that they were dealing with an actual killer, not just a likely thief. They were desperate, willing to do anything and risk everything, it would seem, to get at whatever it was that they knew was stashed away in one of the busts, and she thought she now understood just what that might be. The Black Pearl, the very same case she had taken on and Sherlock had scoffed at and deemed 'Not worth either of their time,' but still she thought it wise to remain open minded. If she had learnt anything about solving cases alongside Sherlock, it was that one ought to always keep an open mind to everything, even when ones instincts said otherwise…which was why she had decided to at least indulge in the possibility that James had planned this whole thing, even if she knew in her heart he hadn't. She released a long, slow breath through her red, painted lips and met Sherlock's eyes, admiring the way that his eyes had brightened very slightly with intrigue.

"Hm," Sherlock said without dropping his gaze from hers, "That perks things up a bit," and without even pausing, he ended the call and immediately turned to leave the room.

Amelia rolled her eyes slightly at his dramatics, turning to give Craig a smile as the other man remained in his desk chair, now turned to face her, "I'm afraid we have to go, Craig," she told him, adjusting her handbag more comfortably on her shoulder, "But thank you so much for all your time and effort, it's a big help. I'm sure we'll be in touch".

"Good luck," Craig nodded to her, swivelling his chair back around to face his computer screens.

She wasn't thrown by perhaps the slightly curious response, most people might have said 'Goodbye' or offered to show her out, but after all these years and living and dating Sherlock Holmes, she wasn't exactly thrown by many people's curious behaviour anymore. She headed back downstairs and found Sherlock waving down a cab out the front of the house on the pavement, the cab pulling up right alongside them as she was turning away from closing the front door. She slipped into the back seat of the cab, where Sherlock soon joined her after giving the driver the address and the cab swiftly pulled away, heading off down the street. They hadn't even reached the end of the street before Sherlock, who had been eyeing her with a slightly thoughtful gaze, began to speak.

"You think the Pearl's hidden in one of the busts," he said, not even asking, but rather simply stating it as a fact as he continued to regard her closely.

Amelia glanced across to him, eyebrows slightly lifted, "Do you disagree with my deduction?" she asked, her tone sounding oddly professional, though her dark eyes held an almost playful glimmer to them.

"Obviously not, in fact it's entirely plausible and likely, given the fact that we know that Moriarty had an interest in the Pearl…"

"I'm still unconvinced that he has anything to do with this, Sherlock," she reminded him firmly, frowning faintly at him. Almost instantly he narrowed his eyes on her, clearly just as frustrated today as he had been the day before over her refusal to agree with him on this matter. After all, while they might have their disagreements in other areas of their lives, more often than not they seemed to agree when it came to their cases, perhaps not always each other's methods of seeking out said answers, but the actual suspect was typically something they could both agree on. But not this time and apparently, it was annoying Sherlock quite a bit. She sighed slightly, closing her eyes briefly at the look he was still giving her, "It's just…it feels to easy for this to be James's final game, perhaps when he was still alive he would have done something like this just to see you dance, or whatever it was he seemed to find so amusing, but this was his very final play against you, Holmes," she slid her hand across the back seat, covering his hand resisting on the seat beside him with hers, squeezing it almost apologetically, "Believe me, I want the constant wondering to be over too, but I just don't believe it's this case".

Sherlock glanced down at her hand, before surprising her slightly by turning his wrist so that he could weave his fingers through hers, her red nail polish looking brighter when entwined against his pale skin, "Are you sure you're not just blinded by sentiment, Amelia?" his eyes snapped up to hers suddenly.

"_Sentiment_?" she almost laughed, amusement colouring her tone.

"After everything he did, all the pain and hurt and fear he caused to you, you still love him, even now. Are you quite sure this isn't just sentiment from a sister who wishes to remember her twin as a _good _person in death?"

She did scoff at that, rolling her eyes as her humour faded, "I'm not insane, Sherlock," she told him, her voice taking on a slightly darker edge, while her eyes grew colder. It made her look more like James Moriarty then she usually did, they did share the same eyes, after all, but hers usually held a warmth to them that Moriarty had always lacked, "I know who and what my brother was, death can't ever erase that, not even in my eyes. This isn't sentimental attachment or me trying to respect the dead, this is me telling you that I knew my brother, perhaps not what he liked or disliked in his adult life, his political leanings, but I did know his basic mentality and he would never have done something this simplistic and dull for his final bow".

Sherlock pressed his lips together in a firm line, leaning back slightly from her as he kept his gaze fixed on her face. She could practically read it in his eyes that he was inclined to agree with her right now, he believed her, but she also knew that there was something else there keeping him from fully giving up on the idea that James was behind this case. Perhaps it was the fact that he was tired of waiting? Tired of constantly wondering when this final game was supposed to start, just as she was, she almost felt as though their lives had been placed into a sort of limber for the past several months since New Year's Day and that message had been splashed across every screen in London. A part of him knew she was speaking the truth, based on logic and not just sentiment, as he had seemed to assume at first, but he evidently still felt conflicted. She gave him a small, gentle smile and squeezed his hand in hers, her eyes softening, warming once more.

"We'll figure it out, William," she reassured him gently, daring to even reach up with her other hand not held in his to lightly cup the left side of his face. He could have moved away from her, if he had wished, she made sure that he had the chance, knowing how he still tended to shy away from public displays of affection, even though there was just the cabbie sitting in the driver's seat in front of them, hopefully paying more attention to the road then to them right now. He didn't move away from her as her hand touched his cheek, her thumb lightly caressing his sharp cheek bone, while his eyes remained locked on hers, filled with a tenderness that often surprised her, even now.

"Naturally, we will," he replied softly, before he cleared his throat and that unguarded affection that he had held in his eyes as he had looked at her was pushed aside, replaced with his cool, emotionless look. She reluctantly dropped his hand from his cheek, though she kept her hand in his and he made no move to slip his fingers from hers, "Tell me everything you know about the Black Pearl of the Borgias," he almost demanded, as though the soft, gentle moment between them hadn't happened at all.

Amelia, just to play with him a little, lifted an eyebrow, "Oh, so _now_ you're interested in my case?" she smirked slightly smugly at him, while he sighed in exasperation and briefly looked away from her, "I thought you said that case wasn't worth either of our time? How quickly you change your mind, Holmes…"

"Are you quite finished, or need I remind you that this might be the key to solving our far more pressing case?"

"But _you _said…"

"Amelia," he cut across her with an almost frustrated growl, glaring at her almost dangerously, though she found it far from frightening, especially considering the fact that he was still holding her hand, "Gloating isn't a very attractive sight on you".

"I wish I could say the same about your frustration on_ you_," she shot back with a positively wicked grin, her eyes glimmering with teasing. She leaned closer to him, while Sherlock tensed slightly at her suddenly closing the distance between them, bringing her lips right up to his left ear, her lipstick just shy of staining his flesh. She could almost see his pulse jumping in his neck, both from his annoyance with her and no doubt other, far more pleasant emotions that her proximity to him triggered. She dropped her voice to a whisper, letting her nose brush against one of his curls, "It is a_ very_ sexy look on you, William".

"Amelia," the warning in his tone was very clear, even with his voice slightly lower than normal and hushed, not quite to a point of a whisper. She pulled back to sit back in her seat, smirking at the sight of his darkened eyes glaring right back at, looking caught between being annoyed with her teasing and something else, a look she had grown increasingly familiar with seeing in his gaze when they were alone. She almost felt like pushing him even further, but considering the fact that they were literally on their way to a crime scene with a murder victim awaiting them, she thought that she probably ought to be a little more professional…though, that boat might have well and truly have sailed by this point.

"The Pearl has quite a history," she began explaining casually, as though nothing at all had just happened, she even absently brushed a hand down over her skirt as she spoke, though she felt his eyes on her and not just because he was listening intently to her retelling of the case, "It once belonged to the infamous Borgia family, hence the name, there's some historical evidence to suggest that the Pearl was in fact gifted to Lucrezia Borgia by either her lover or one of her husbands, but history is a little vague on the details…" she shook her head, mildly surprised that Sherlock hadn't interrupted her yet and told her to get to the more recent and relevant history of the Pearl, but he remained curiously silent, looking at her with obvious interest. She shrugged lightly, thinking over everything she had read on the case, "After that, the Pearl pops up from time to time throughout history, before disappearing into obscurity somewhere around the early Georgian period, until it suddenly appeared at an auction house in the South of France in the early 70's. It was bought by a private vendor for an obscene price before once again disappearing".

"Until now," Sherlock commented lightly, looking away from her in thought.

She nodded, "Six years ago it was stolen from a high security and guarded vault in Georgia," she continued, turning her gaze onto the road before them, not wishing to make herself car sick, "Interpol quickly launched an investigation, but aside from a few dead end leads and rumours over the years, they really haven't turned up a thing, not even a single credible suspect".

"But they think the Pearl is possibly in London?"

"Apparently they picked up some chatter circulating the black-market in London a few months back about someone claiming to have a 'Legendary Pearl' that they wish to sale off, but they've yet to actually find any evidence or anyone who knows a thing about the Pearl, hence why Scotland Yard turned to us, or rather me…" she shot him a pointed look at that, just in time to catch him rolling his eyes.

Sherlock turned his head to look directly at her, regarding her thoughtfully, "And what do _you_ think?"

"I think that concealing something like a Pearl in a bust would be an excellent means of transporting it from place to place, without questions".

"Hmm," he hummed faintly, and turned his gaze onto his side window, bringing his fingertips together beneath his chin.

Amelia left him to his thinking, allowing her own eyes to return to watching the road ahead of them. It seemed a little coincidental that the Pearl and the smashing of the busts might be connected, but it seemed like a promising lead right now. More promising than anything Interpol had managed to come up with in six years, anyway.

…

"Defensive wounds on her face and hands," Lestrade told Amelia and Sherlock as he led them out into the back garden of a white, two story, rather large house that was positively buzzing with forensic officers and police, two uniformed police officer's lifting a yellow police tape up for them to pass through into the crime scene, which seemed to include most of the expansive garden. He walked them over towards where a body of a woman in her fifties was lying face down on the grass, dressed in a grey dressing gown, "Throat cut, sharp blade".

"She was also in possession of one of the busts?" Amelia questioned as they neared the body, while forensic officers snapped pictures of the scene. She wondered if Anderson had made any improvement since his break down…,"Smashed to pieces too, I expect?"

He nodded, glancing at her, "Two of them this time".

"Interesting," Sherlock remarked as he exchanged a brief look with Amelia, who frowned faintly and turned her eyes back onto the body. The woman seemed to have been trying to escape her killer, her slippers left lying on the grass a short distance away from where she had fallen, the killer seemingly having grabbed her from behind as she had tried to defend herself and then slit her throat, suggesting to her once again that they were dealing with someone who had training, they had acted methodically and killed the woman quickly when she probably tried to either stop them or tried calling for help. Sherlock turned his gaze down onto the body; too, eyeing it critically, "That batch of statues was made in Tbilisi several years ago, limited edition of six".

"And now someone's wondering around destroying 'em all," Lestrade shook his head, frowning deeply as he looked back across to Sherlock and Amelia, briefly throwing his hands up in the air, "Makes no sense. What's the point?"

"No, they're not destroying them," he corrected, shaking his head as he kept his gaze on the woman's body just a few feet away from them, "That's not what's happening".

Lestrade blinked in confusion, giving him a look of complete bafflement, "Yes, it is".

Amelia glanced sideways at Sherlock, eyeing him slightly, "Well, _yes_, obviously the busts _are_ being destroyed, Lestrade," she said in agreement, when Sherlock briefly closed his eyes in annoyance, turning her eyes onto the still horribly confused Detective Inspector, "But that's just a small detail in this case, there's a larger picture here…"

He simply gaped at her, looking even more clueless and frustrated by what it was that Sherlock and Amelia seemed to be saying, but yet weren't saying at the same time…which made it completely impossible for anyone but them to understand, apparently. It was hard enough to know what the two of them were talking about at the best of times, but right now they were making no sense at all.

"I've been slow," Sherlock muttered, scowling down at the body, though he didn't seem to actually be seeing it, "Far too slow…"

"I think we're both guilty on that score, Sherlock," Amelia sighed grimly, regretting not having put the bust and the Pearl together sooner than this, especially when she had taken such an interest in the case of the missing Black Pearl herself. It made perfect sense to her now, how the Pearl had been transported and kept hidden for all these years, but it didn't explain yet who had stolen the Pearl in the first place, though it seemed likely to be their mystery bust smasher. Of course, she also knew that Sherlock still thought James behind it all, she, however, firmly believed otherwise, but they could deal with that once they had caught the thief, turned killer.

Lestrade looked blankly between the two of them, before lifting his gaze up towards the bright, sunshine filled sky briefly, almost as though he was praying for patience dealing with the two of them and their nonsense, "Well…" he turned his eyes back onto them, giving them an almost pained look, filled with frustration and exasperation, "I'm_ still_ being slow over here, so if you wouldn't mind…" he looked at them pointedly.

"Slow but lucky, _very_ lucky," Sherlock cut across him, narrowing his eyes in concentration as he lifted his head to meet Amelia's gaze, "And since they smashed both busts, our luck might just hold. Jack Sandeford of Reading is where I'm going next…" Amelia instantly frowned, noting how he purposely seemed to leave her out, swiftly turning back towards Lestrade, giving him a thin smile, "Congratulations, by the way".

"I'm sorry?" he frowned at him.

"Well, you're about to a solve a big one," he clarified, his lips turning upwards very slightly in amusement, exchanging a quick look with Amelia, who struggled to hold back a laugh. They both turned to start walking back up the garden towards the house, Amelia balancing herself with practiced ease on the balls of her heels so her stilettos didn't sink into the soft earth. She did, however, smile faintly as she felt Sherlock suddenly reach out to grasp her arm, helping steady her with an almost fond eye roll.

Lestrade didn't follow them, "Yeah," he said with a hint of bitterness from behind them, "Until John publishes his blog".

"Yeah, 'til then, basically".

Amelia did laugh at that, earning a smirk from Sherlock, "Goodbye, Lestrade," she called back over her shoulder, "Do try not to wallow in the self pity for too long, you might actually solve a case without us…_one _of these days," she didn't need to look behind her to know that Lestrade had likely just given her the finger, but much like with John she knew that it was all done in good nature. She continued to smile faintly as she and Sherlock reached the patio of the house, the two of them swiftly stepping through the open, sliding door where a couple of forensic officers were snapping pictures of the kitchen area. She waited, however, until they had slipped out the front door of the house and onto the semi-circle drive way before throwing the side of Sherlock's face a small, suspicious look, "Why do I get the strangest feeling you don't want me to go to Reading with you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't even pretend to be ashamed at being caught out, instead he glanced across to her with an eyebrow lifted, "You are aware that I am likely going to be involved in a physical altercation with our suspect, yes?"

"Obviously," she rolled her eyes, pausing to face him properly in the middle of the gravel drive way. Sherlock stopped too, looking back to her, "What's wrong, Holmes? Afraid I won't be able to control myself seeing you go fist-to-fist with someone?" she mockingly swooned, pretending to gasp and flatten the back of her hand against her forehead.

Naturally, he rolled his eyes at her antics, "You'll be a liability," he told her bluntly, instantly dispelling any humour she might have felt, a deep, slightly offended frown crossing her features as she fixed him with a sharp glare.

"A _liability_?" she repeated, her tone taking on a hint of anger and danger that might have made any one else back down, but not Sherlock Holmes, apparently. She stepped closer to him, her heels bringing her easily to his full height and barely resisted the urge to poke his chest, "Oh, you seriously did _not _just call me that, Sherlock Holmes! You would never dare call John a liability…"

"John's a soldier, as he _so_ loves to remind us all, who knows how to defend himself, you, on the other hand, are an ex-party girl who is laughable outmatched by even the most armature of physical assailants…"

"I can defend myself just fine, thank you very much!"

"Amelia," Sherlock sighed, looking exasperated, but surprisingly patient, "In all of the physical encounters you've had during our cases, you have never _once_ successfully disarmed or taken down a single opponent by physical means. Even what little self-defence I've taught you, you have only managed to vaguely grasp".

Amelia gritted her teeth, glaring at him angrily as she crossed her arms across her chest, before releasing a huff through her lips and looking away from him, almost bitterly because try as she might…she couldn't deny that he was speaking completely logically right now. She wasn't a fighter, even when Sherlock had tried teaching her a few moves, like disarming a gun or knife from an attacker, she had still struggled with getting the coordination and speed down, let alone actually trying to go head on with someone with actual training, she'd be either dead or in the hospital within seconds. But she still wanted to be stubborn and insist that she would be fine, feeling her pride being wounded by the fact that while she was able to excel academically and in most mental pursuits, she was laughably unprepared for physical fighting. Perhaps with more practice and proper training, she'd improve, but that wasn't going to happen within the next few hours.

"Amelia," Sherlock's voice broke through her thoughts, making her reluctantly look back to him. He was watching her closely, his eyes soft as he reached out to grasp her elbow again, though this time it wasn't for the excuse of helping her to remain upright, "You're an excellent detective, I have no doubt of that, you've proven yourself more than capable of keeping up and even matching me, more than once, but this isn't your area. I'll handle it".

She sighed heavily, knowing that he was just trying to make her feel better, "Just…" she licked her lips, meeting his eyes firmly, "Be careful, okay, Holmes?"

He smirked, "Of course".

…

Amelia Wilson considered herself to be many things, she was an ex-party girl, as Sherlock kindly reminded her, she was a private detective turned consulting detective, a sister, a daughter, a friend, a girlfriend, but she was also a feminist. A feminist who wasn't about to just allow herself to be sidelined just because she couldn't fight hand –to-hand against someone and was there for considered to be a 'Liability'. Oh, she wasn't idiotic enough to actually think she could fight, truth be told she didn't even _want _to, but she was going to be damned if she was just going to stay home all night and let Sherlock bloody Holmes go gallivanting about the place, solving their _joint _case, she wasn't one of those women who was just going to sit at home and watch telly, letting her man do all the dirty work. They were an equal partnership; therefore she couldn't just accept that she should stay home, not when she was perfectly capable of doing something. If Sherlock wanted to handle the physical side of things, she was perfectly happy to let him, she knew he could handle himself more than well enough, but that didn't mean she couldn't be of some use.

And so she played her role, even managing to fool Sherlock into thinking that she had very reluctantly accepted the night's plans as they returned to Baker Street. She made sure that she treated him with enough chilliness to make him think that she was at least a little upset with him, and he seemed to buy it completely. Close to seven thirty that evening, Sherlock moved to leave and Amelia wished him luck, giving him a lingering kiss before he left for Reading…the moment she heard the cab pull away from the front of Baker Street, she was dashing into their bedroom and shimmering out of her skirt, replacing it with a pair of black skinny jeans and black, rubber sole ankle boots that had only a slight lift to them, though they were much safer and softer then her beloved heels, though she kept her jumper and tan coloured trench coat.

It took a little over an hour and a half to reach the Sandeford house, which was quite a modern build that was surrounded by some fields and woodland, somewhat separated from the main township by a long gravel drive way. Light positively spilled out from every window in the house, though she expected that Sherlock had arranged for the Sandeford family to not to be on the property when everything actually went down. It was a delicate waiting game, she couldn't sneak into the house until Sherlock was well and truly inside and she couldn't wait for the suspect to arrive in case he should come across her while scoping out the house, so she tried to time her entry into the home carefully. The security system was down already, thanks to Sherlock, so she needn't worry about that as she carefully approached the house from out of the darkness, having waited until all the lights in the house had been switched out before daring to approach. There was a back door to the garage and she took a moment to quietly pick the lock with a small lock picker tool that she had brought along with her. She'd learnt to pick locks was she seven and bored, she and James had even made something of a game of it, though she had always been faster.

The lock clicked open after less than forty seconds and she smirked to herself, feeling rather smug as she tucked the tool back inside a small, leather wallet and tucked it into her back pocket of her jeans, just in case she needed it quickly again. She almost felt like it was the old days again, back before she met Sherlock and John, back when she was working on just her own for the most part, occasionally getting called in to help on a case that Lestrade found tricky, back in the days when Sherlock had been to high that even Lestrade hadn't been able to overlook his condition to allow him to work on a case or when Sherlock might have deemed the case to be boring. Of course, it was only until now that she knew all of this, back then she had known that Lestrade worked with another detective from time to time, eventually learning said detective's name, but she hadn't known the full story. In a way, she missed those days, there were times now when she wondered if her skills were truly of any use to Sherlock when they were both so similar in that way already, but she loved working with him, he'd taught her so much and she hoped she had taught him a little something too, at the end of the day she wouldn't give it up for anything.

The garage smelt like engine oil and in the dark, Amelia could make out the shadow of a Land Rover, while in the next section over there was a classic car covered by a white, dust cover. She didn't bother to take a peek, instead she moved almost silently passed the front of the cars and across to where a small step up led to a door, which was unlocked when she tried the smooth, cold doorhandle. The inside of the house was very nicely styled, the walls seemed to be painted a stark white and the floors done in a polished concrete throughout as she found herself stepping out into a hallway, gently closing the door behind her as she looked up and down the darkened hall. She couldn't be sure where Sherlock might be lurking and she didn't have any intention of running into him at this stage of the evening, nor did she wish to find herself face-to-face with their suspect, but she knew that where ever Sherlock was, it was likely near the bust.

Where would one display a bust of someone they obviously must admire…somewhere it would be viewed regularly, pride of place in the home, more than likely, which ruled out the upstairs completely. She remained in the dark for a moment, considering it, if it was her she would put something like that in the main living area, right where anyone could see it and she could look at it, too, much like how people liked putting photographs on mantelpieces. The living room, or family room, seemed like the obvious place. She had to move slowly through the ground floor, however, since she didn't actually know the layout of the house, but thankfully it was so modern and quite open layout, meaning that she just had to walk in the right direction and she'd likely end up finding it. She must have wasted more time then she had previously thought, because by the time she found the open planned living room and kitchen, she could already hear a scuffle going on just around the corner, which opened up into the space.

Amelia flattened herself against the wall, cringing as she heard what sounded like someone's head being smashed repeatedly down onto a hard, wooden surface, or at least it sounded like a head, it could have been any part of the body, really, while the sound of a man grunting loudly mixed with the sound. Okay…so Sherlock was likely getting a concussion right about now, that was just brilliant, thankfully he did have a pretty hard head. She tried to peer around the corner, but she didn't quite dare, managing to spy a white, modern plastic bar stool lying discarded on the floor, as though someone had thrown it. Close to the chair, she could also see a duffle bag lying on the ground, with the bust, unbroken. Perhaps she could dart out and grab the bust, use it as a means of distracting the other man's attention and turning this all in their favour, before Sherlock ended up getting whacked around to much more. She knew she'd be able to do it before the man currently fighting Sherlock could reach her, judging by the sound, she could vaguely determine that Sherlock was closer to the doorway then the other man…if she could just get the bust, she could stop all of this…

Suddenly, there was an abrupt end the sound of flesh being hit and what sounded like a pair of heavy, solid boots skidding slightly backwards against the floor. She immediately tensed, the silence somehow even worse than hearing someone possibly hurting Sherlock. She wanted to look around the corner so badly, she had to bite her bottom lip and dig her fingernails into her palms just to stop herself.

"You were on the run," Sherlock said slightly breathlessly, but he sounded utterly focused. Amelia closed her eyes briefly in relief at the sound of his voice, how lucid he was, even after being hit likely several times in the head, "Nowhere to hide your precious cargo…" there was another grunting noise, as though someone had just been kicked or punched again, and Amelia strained her ears to listen to more sounds of scuffling going on just around the corner from her, but it didn't seem to be quite as bad as before. The noise died down and the sound of two men's breathing filled the tense air, "You find yourself in a workshop," he went on again, speaking louder and faster than before, and Amelia could just picture the sharp, calculating expression he must be wearing as he glared down the other man, "Plaster busts of The Iron Lady drying. It's clever, very clever," his voice grew softer and darker, "But now you've met me, and you're not so clever, are you?"

"Who are you?" another, unknown male voice demanded breathlessly, his words laced with an English accent, though Amelia had no doubt that it was possibly fake.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes".

There was a brief pause and Amelia squeezed her eyes shut, waiting tensely. She still didn't quite know what she was going to do, but she knew that she had to act soon…this other man wasn't just going to walk away from this and nor was Sherlock. It was just a matter of who was going to win, and Amelia wasn't prepared to gamble with Sherlock's life or safety like that.

"Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes".

The words were spoken almost softly, before a great battle cry of rage filled the air and Amelia actually jumped, her eyes widening as she heard heavy boots thundering against the polished concrete floors before the sound of glass shattering and a very large splash came next. She almost tripped herself up in her haste to round the corner, her eyes widening in horror as she was met by the sight of what was once a large glass window that separated the indoor swimming pool and kitchen area, the glass now shattered across the floor, while two blurred, darkened outlines of men seemed to be locked in a underwater fight against one another, splashing water everywhere. It took a second for Amelia's mind to catch up to her body as she went to run immediately towards the pool, not caring in the slightest if she was only throwing herself into certain danger and possibly endangering Sherlock even more by accidently distracting him at a critical moment, all she wanted was to grab him and pull him out, back onto dry land and away from his attacker. But then her logical side kicked in with so much force that she almost skidded against the glass shards littering the floor.

She sucked in a deep breath, heart pounding and her thoughts racing. She couldn't attack physically, she didn't have a hope of being able to do anything to physically help Sherlock right now, she would likely get herself seriously injured more than anything else, and while her own physical condition was a minimal concern to her right now, she knew that it was far from ideal. She also knew that once she jumped in the water, she was going to be severely disadvantaged by pretty much everything, from her clothing to her lack of physical fighting ability, and then there was also the high risk that she could end up triggering a panic attack if she submerged herself or was accidently pushed under the water, even by Sherlock. She couldn't afford to take that risk right now. But there was still something she might be able to do on dry land to gain the upper hand…She looked back over to where the bust had been left in the open duffle bag, while a gun had been dropped a few feet away from that. She dashed across to both just as Sherlock and his assailant rose from the depths of the pool, still fighting while the other man, who appeared to be of Indian descent, tried to chock Sherlock. She grabbed the bust and the gun, whirling back around to face the pool with the gun grasped firmly in her right hand.

"Hey!" she yelled, glaring back at the pool as the Indian man and Sherlock continued to grapple with each other, spinning around as the other man latched his hands around Sherlock's neck, clearly trying to strangle him. She marched over to stand just on the edge of where the shattered glass had fallen, struggling to keep the fear she felt for Sherlock from crossing her face, "Let him go, or I'll destroy the bust!"

Sadly, her words only had a minimal impact, and Amelia rolled her eyes in exasperation and instead repositioned the gun so that it was aimed up towards the ceiling, silently apologising to the homeowner before pulling the trigger. A loud bang thundered through the air and she grimaced as her hand shook from the slight kickback of the weapon and the noise, while some dust floated down from the ceiling and a chunk of plaster was blasted off, leaving a large chunk missing. But it did finally pull both men's attention back to her and she smirked slightly as she looked back into the pool to find both men had turned to look back up to her, their fight momentarily paused as the fairly young, Indian man appeared to be preparing to dunk Sherlock back beneath the water.

"I guess that's one way to get a guys attention," Amelia remarked lightly, flexing her fingers on the gun as discreetly as she could. She hadn't fired a gun since high school…, "I must admit, usually my smile is enough…I'm _almost_ insulted".

"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded, glaring back up at her from the pool furiously, while Sherlock closed his eyes in exasperation, looking as though he was close to wanting to smack his head repeatedly against the pool wall.

Amelia lifted an eyebrow, peering almost boredly back at the man, "I'm the one who is about to destroy your precious bust and the secret held within it," she told him, pointedly aiming the tip of the gun directly at the temple of the bust carefully balanced on the palm of her left hand. It was a rather weighty thing, for a plaster bust, but she tried to counter that by keeping her arm and elbow close to her body, "_Or_…" she smiled mock charmingly back at the man, "Counter proposal, the three of us can all have a nice, civilised chat and we can put all these dramatics on hold for a few minutes".

The man suddenly grabbed Sherlock roughly and swung him around so that his back was to the assailant, wrapping his arm around Sherlock's throat from behind, while Sherlock attempted to kick backwards and elbow the man, but the man, who had no doubt planned for that, merely grunted as one of the hits got him, but rather then release Sherlock, he shoved him back beneath the water, his arm still wrapped around his throat. Amelia struggled to keep her expression clear of emotion, while her heart pounded sickeningly in her chest and she felt her palms begin to sweat. It was almost too much for her to bare seeing Sherlock struggling as he was held beneath the rippling, turning water, while the other man grimaced and fought to keep him down.

"Give me the bust or I'll drown him!" the man called back up to her, his face screwed up with the effort of trying to keep Sherlock down. Sherlock wasn't giving up without a fight though, Amelia could see his blurred body struggling, kicking and clawing and hitting at any part of the man he could try and get, but he was at some disadvantage as the man, though clearly struggling, managed to take whatever blow that did land with surprising ease. Evidently this was a man who had been through a lot of pain and survived it all.

Amelia glared coldly back at him, tightening her grip on the smooth, curved surface of the pistol, "Kill him and the you'll have much bigger concerns then whatever is inside this bust," she warned him in a dangerously calm voice, shocking even herself at just how deadly serious she felt. It was almost as though her brain had been switched into hyper-focus, "If Sherlock Holmes is harmed in anyway, I will raise an empire devoted entirely to hunting you down and just as you think you've escaped, I will take you down in ways that you haven't even predicted yet. I'm James Moriarty's sister," she lifted her chin proudly, her tone not wavering from the chilling calm that had settled over her, "Do some research and tell me again that you will drown him".

She didn't really know where it came from, but she knew with all her heart that every word she said was completely true. If anything happened to Sherlock, John, Molly, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson…hell, even the rest of the Holmes family, she would be completely prepared to do whatever she felt she had to in order to get justice for what happened to them. She wasn't James, but she was a Moriarty by blood and a Moriarty didn't just let things slide, no, they got even, with blood, if need be. She was more than willing to do just that, morality and ethics be demanded if someone she loved was harmed in anyway. It wouldn't even be hard for her to gain support from those that she would ordinarily considerer to be vile human beings, the sort of people that James had dealt with, she had his last name, after all. If needed, she could build her own empire, just like he had, but for a very different purpose and reason then just power and sick pleasure, and God help the person that tried to get in her way.

"James Moriarty?" the man frowned in confusion, staring back up at her with dark, blank eyes at the name, making her blink slightly in surprise, "Who the hell is that?"

Amelia couldn't help being actually quite thrown by that question, how could he not know who James was? The entire_ world_ knew the story, or at least they knew most of it, how James had actually been the criminal mastermind who had framed Sherlock into being a fraud and a murderer, made all the more famous by the return of Sherlock and Amelia seemingly back from the dead two years later. It was talked about in the media for ages, even now people still brought it up from time to time in the press, Amelia and her friends were still classed as being something of low grade celebrities, somewhere on a similar level to one of those Instagram models, but with perhaps more creditability. Still…how could he not at least vaguely recognise the name James Moriarty? Unless…she frowned deeply, eyeing him thoughtfully, how he had barely flinched at the blows Sherlock had inflicted upon him, which she knew would have made most men drop, and then there was the nasty, deep scar that ran down his left cheek, beneath his eye. Was it possible that he had been held captured, perhaps, and tortured, explaining his lack of comprehension at the name?

She was still puzzling over it all, when Sherlock managed to land a blow against the man, who had been seemingly distracted for a second to long as he had stared up at Amelia in bafflement. The man gave a loud, pained howl and fell sideways in the pool, as though his left leg had gone out from beneath him and Sherlock, taking his chance, seemed to deliver a second blow that sent the man backwards and down under the water, just as Sherlock popped up from the choppy water surface with a gasp of air and his drenched curls covering his face. Amelia immediately dropped the gun on the kitchen bench, though logically she knew that perhaps she should keep the gun under the current circumstances, she personally thought it wiser to keep a hold of the bust, since it was what the mystery man was truly after. She dashed through the shattered window as Sherlock waded as quickly as possible through the chest deep water to the edge of the pool towards her, where she momentarily sat the bust down to crouch down on the glass shards to reach out to grab his hands to help pull him up.

"What are you doing here?" was the first thing to leave his lips as he actually shot her a dark look, reaching out to grab her hands, already spraying her with water.

"Trying to stop you from getting yourself beaten to a bloody pulp, Holmes!" she replied shortly, tightening her hand on his hands and helping pull him up, while he brought his knee up to brace himself on the edge of the pool. She rolled her eyes at his attitude, though she hadn't exactly expected him to be so grateful to see her that he'd suddenly give her a movie worthy kiss for coming to his rescue, "I mean, honestly," she grimaced, scoffing, "A 'Thank you, Amelia' would be nice, for once…"

Sherlock went to respond, giving her another small glare that told her already that she wasn't about to be thanked, when the other man suddenly came up out of the water from behind Sherlock, grabbing the back of his sodden blazer and roughly trying to pull him back with a furious cry. Amelia, barely comprehending what she was doing, dropped Sherlock's hands to grab the bust and brought it down over the other man's head. He gave a funny, chocked grunt and fell backwards away from the edge of the pool and back into the water, just as Sherlock managed to pull himself completely up out of the pool and climbed back onto his own feet, throwing Amelia a look that actually looked caught between surprise and impressed. Amelia blinked slightly and brought the bust up to her chest, almost as though she was cradling it.

"Please tell me I didn't just kill him?" she bit her painted lips nervously, but she had barely spoken before the man broke back up through the surface of the water, looking positively murderous as he almost seemed to breath fire as he looked directly at Amelia.

"Evidently not," Sherlock remarked as he reached out to place a hand firmly on her lower back, eyeing the other man as he began to move towards them, thankfully hindered by his heavy black clothing and still, no doubt, a little dazed by the blow to the head, "He does, however, appear to be planning to ensure that you die very soon, Amelia".

"You could say that with a_ little_ more concern, Sherlock".

He actually smirked at that, which Amelia might have rolled her eyes at, had she not been nervously regarding the other man who truly did seem to be planning her very immediate, painful death as he drew closer to the edge of the pool and began pulling himself up over the edge. She hastily began to back away and Sherlock followed closely by her side, so closely that they were pressed against one another, the left side of Amelia's jumper instantly growing wet just from the close contact as they backed all the way back into the kitchen area.

"He's not working for James, Sherlock," Amelia said quickly as she continued to watch as the other man pulled himself from the pool, dripping wet and already moving towards them, slightly hunched over, as though preparing to barrel towards them the second they dropped their guard. She felt Sherlock's hand on her back press slightly firmer into her, his fingers tightening on the wool of her jumper, but not painfully so. She had the strangest sense that he was feeling worried for her safety and was preparing to pull her behind him or out of the way, should the man attempt anything. She swallowed under the intense glare of the other man as he stepped through the shattered window, staring back at him as his gaze flickered between the detectives, calculating and violent, "I told you this wasn't about him, and I was proven right. He doesn't even _know_ who James was".

Sherlock shook his head, a frown crossing his still wet face, "But _I _know it's him," he insisted, not taking his gaze other the other man, nor relaxing his grip on Amelia's jumper…if it was any other time, she might have scolded him for possibly damaging the Scottish wool, "It _must _be him".

"You think you understand," the man sneered back at them, leaning slightly lopsidedly, his left knee evidently still sore after the blow Sherlock had given it to free himself, "You understand _nothing_".

"Well, before the police come in and spoil things," Sherlock said mockingly, giving the other man a brief, sarcastic smile, still slightly out of breath, "Why don't we just enjoy the moment?" he glanced across to Amelia, who, without needing to be asked, held the bust up before them all with a slight lift to her eyebrows as she regarded the man closely as his gaze immediately zoned in on the bust. Sherlock held his hand not still screwed up in the fabric of Amelia's jumper out towards the bust, glaring coldly back across to the other man, "Let us present Interpol's number one case".

"Six years they've struggled with this one," Amelia remarked with almost ideal interest as she pulled her gaze off the other man to peer at the bust, considering it thoughtfully, "They never once came close to even solving it, and then they came to us," she smirked slyly, "I can't wait to see their faces when I break the news to them that I solved it within practically days of taking the case. Ah, I do love the sweet smell of victory".

And with that, grasping the bust between both of her hands, she brought it up above her head and then down as hard as she could, so that it smashed onto the floor between the three of them, sending shards of plaster and dust scattering across the flooring, while the man flinched.

"The Black Pearl of the Borgias," Sherlock smiled smugly, and looked down at the shattered remains of the bust…only to freeze.

Amelia's breath seemed to catch in her throat and her eyes widened in shock as she peered down at the remains of the bust. There wasn't any sign of a pearl, as she had expected, it was so much more than that, so much _worse_. She barely seemed to comprehend what she was seeing for a second as she stared down at the silver memory stick sitting amidst the broken plaster and dust on the floor, but not just any ordinary memory stick, but the one that Mary had given John, exactly the same, right down to the texture lettering scrawled across the side of the memory stick in black, spelling out 'A.G.R.A'. But…it wasn't possible, she knew for a fact that John had destroyed that memory stick and everything it had contained, never having even looked at it, last Christmas when they had been at the Holmes house. This was another memory stick, seemingly exactly the same. Beside her, seeming just as stunned as Amelia felt, Sherlock slowly began to sink down into a crouch before the memory stick, staring transfixed at it.

"It's not possible," he breathed, his face screwed up in confusion as he reached out towards the device, "How could she…?" he broke off, shaking his head as he plucked it off the ground.

Amelia struggled to make sense of what had just happened, feeling oddly dazed and light headed as her mind raced to try and come up with a logical explanation. That memory stick had contained Mary's past on it, it was enough the completely destroy her and now the family that she had built with John, there was no way that she would have kept a copy of it. Amelia knew Mary wouldn't have done that, she knew it in her heart that she would never have placed her daughter and John at risk like that, but aside from that, how had it ended up being hidden away inside a plaster bust for these past six years? It just…made little sense to her stunned brain. She reached out to touch Sherlock's shoulder as he remained crouched, almost as though she was trying to ground herself, neither realising that the other man was reaching for the gun she had stupidly left lying on the kitchen counter.

"I…don't understand," she swallowed, blinking slowly as she curled her fingers into the sodden fabric of Sherlock's blazer, "Sherlock, how can it be the same memory stick?" she asked, almost with a note of pleading in her tone, feeling sick just thinking of what the information on that memory stick could do to John and Mary, and the family they had made, "She_ destroyed_ it, I_ know_ she did".

"'She?'" the man suddenly spoke up, his voice full of scathing. Amelia flinched at the sound of his voice and her eyes snapped off Sherlock's back, over to the man, finding him glaring back at them, anguished tears filling his brown eyes with the gun now clutched in his hand. He brought it up to aim directly on Amelia, who slowly lifted her left hand, keeping her right twisted in Sherlock's blazer. He stared back at her, the gun shaking very slightly, "You _know_ her," he realised, and Amelia eyed the gun pointed at her warily, while Sherlock frowned and lifted his head, tensing at the sight of the weapon and more importantly, _who_ it was trained on, "You_ do_, don't you?" his grip on the gun grew more steady, his expression hardening with anger, "You _know_ the bitch. She betrayed me, betrayed us all".

Police sirens filled the air, then, followed by the sound of car tires on gravel and flashing blue lights spilled through the glazed over window of a nearby door that led out to the front of the house. Amelia wasn't calmed by the arrival of the police, however, swallowing hard as she kept her hand lifted in a sign of surrender and her eyes flickering nervously between the barrel of the gun aimed at her chest and back to the man holding the weapon, his face screwed up with fury. But the man's words still hit her, almost like a slap. This had all been about Mary, this entire case was about someone who had been hunting her down, tracking the one thing that revolved around Mary's past, and _clearly_ it wasn't because this man wanted to have a nice catch up session with his old friend.

"Mary," Sherlock said slowly, snapping out of his dazed state at the sight of Amelia being held practically at gunpoint. He slowly began to rise from the crouch, placing himself just that little bit more in front of Amelia, and predictably the man immediately repositioned the gun so that it was aimed on him, instead. He narrowed his eyes on the man, "This is about _Mary_".

Amelia's eyes widen, her head snapping back around to stare at Sherlock. He had practically just handed the man everything he needed to get Mary, and Sherlock only seemed to notice after the words had left his lips as a brief flash of regret crossed his features, before smoothing out into a cool, blank mask. It was too late; of course, the man immediately lifted an eyebrow.

"Is that what she's calling herself now, eh?" the man sneered, his voice dark and chilling.

"Armed police!" Lestrade's voice suddenly sounded through the air from outside, boosted by a loudspeaker, "You're surrounded!"

The man glanced very briefly past Sherlock and Amelia, towards the door, tightening his grip on the gun as he looked back to them, a look of urgency filling his scarred features, "Give it to me," he demanded, but Sherlock made little move to hand over the memory stick, and the man's features twisted with anger again, "Give it to me!" he shouted, almost shaking with fury now, before aiming the gun back on Amelia, "Give it to me or I'll shoot _her_!"

"Shooting me won't make matters any better for you," Amelia said as calmly as she possibly could with a gun trained at her heart. Sherlock reached a hand back across her front, lightly pushing her a step back and behind him, not taking his sharp, calculating gaze off the other man. She refused to back down, however, though she was grateful for the gesture, eyeing the man with cool eyes, "Trust me, you kill me and I'd_ love_ to see how long you will fair when you have Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson after you".

"I do believe you're rather missing the point, Amelia," Sherlock remarked lightly, though his expression hadn't wavered, nor softened as he glared down the other man, if anything his expression had only hardened and his eyes grown colder then Amelia recalled seeing for quite some time. If her life and Sherlock's, for that matter, wasn't currently under threat, she might have rather enjoyed how protective he was right now, it was rather rare to see.

"Come out slowly!" Lestrade called again over the loudspeaker once again, "I wanna see your hands above your head!"

The man didn't so much as blink, "Nobody shoots me!" he shouted back to Lestrade, not taking his eyes off Sherlock and Amelia, "Anyone shoots me, I kill this man and woman!"

"Lay down your weapon! Do it now!"

"I'm leaving this place!" the man called loudly, slowly edging off towards the kitchen, obviously intending to do a semi-circle around Amelia and Sherlock as they stood between him and the door. He kept the gun firmly trained on Amelia as he did so, though Sherlock and Amelia carefully turned on the spot, keeping eye contact with him as he moved. He raised his voice again as he yelled, "If no-one follows me, no-one dies!"

"Lay down your weapon!"

"You're police!" he scoffed loudly, briefly glancing towards the door as he continued edging along the other side of the kitchen island, separating him from Sherlock and Amelia as they watched him tensely, "I'm a professional!" he turned his hard, cold gaze back onto the detectives, lowering his voice as he said threateningly, "Tell her she's a dead woman. She's a dead woman walking".

Amelia lifted her chin higher, her eyes growing icy, "That's _our _friend you're speaking of," she told him with an edge to her voice, because despite the fact that Mary might have once shot Sherlock and almost killed him, she had redeemed herself in Amelia's eyes since that time, she had forgiven her for it. And more than that, Mary was important to John, that made her important to Amelia, and if you were important to Amelia, then threats made against that person wasn't just going to be left to slide.

"And she's under our protection," Sherlock added with narrowed, hard eyes fixed firmly on the other man, though his voice remained very calm and steady, "Who are you?"

The man held his gaze, his breathing growing slightly heavier as he shifted his weight carefully, "I'm the man…who's gonna kill your friend," he practically growled, his voice shaking with rage, "Who's Sherlock Holmes".

"Not a policeman," Sherlock replied simply, the threat clear in his word, though his tone still remained perfectly at ease.

The man didn't speak; in fact he barely even seemed to blink, before he suddenly pulled the gun away from Amelia's direction and aimed it at back across the room towards where a light sensor panel was on the wall by the door into the swimming pool, firing a single shot at it. Immediately, the room was thrown into darkness and shadows, while a high pitched alarm began whirring through the room and amidst it, the sound of heavy boots hitting the floor as their mystery assailant took off running. Neither Amelia, nor Sherlock made any attempt to go after him, standing together in the gloom, just able to make out each other from the blue lighting of the swimming pool, but as Amelia finally released the breath that she had been holding and allowed her shoulders to relax, she glanced across to Sherlock, finding him peering down at his open palm, which she knew contained the memory stick.

"I can't believe this is actually happening," she breathed, reaching up to run a hand over her still styled hair, though some of the pins had come loose over the course of the day, thankfully her hairspray kept it largely in place. She closed her eyes briefly, shaking her head, "Poor Mary and John, after everything they've overcome, how happy they both are".

"Secrets usually don't stay buried," Sherlock murmured, lifting his head, his face hidden by the shadows, but she could feel his gaze on her face as she opened her eyes. He sighed heavily and he seemed to pocket the memory stick safely in his inner breast pocket of his blazer, "I thought you were staying at Baker Street," he went on, and Amelia could practically hear the eyebrow raised in his tone.

She smirked, though she knew it would be lost to the shadows, "You should be grateful I did come," she remarked lightly, eyeing him in the darkness, "He might have drowned you, Holmes".

"I had it perfectly under control, Amelia".

"Oh, of _course_ you did," she scoffed, laughing faintly at the slight annoyance in his tone. She reached out and took his hand, entwining her fingers with him, "That's why you decided to have a little snuggle in the pool, isn't it? Why, I'm almost jealous!"

"For God's sake…" Sherlock huffed loudly, his eye roll practically palpable as Amelia laughed again, tugging him slightly closer to her. He heaved a large, weighty sigh, though he allowed her to press herself against his chest, making little move to step away from her as he peered at her through the dark, "You could have got yourself killed, Amelia," he reminded her pointedly, and while his tone remained annoyed, Amelia still detected the faint sliver of concern that he slipped in his words.

Her playfulness faded and instead and she considered his shadowed features curiously for a moment, his cheek bones seemed even stronger in this light, while she could barely make out his eyes, but she still felt the weight of them on her, "Were you worried for me, William?" she asked softly, practically feeling his heart beating through his sodden clothing and her now damp jumper, standing so close.

"Must I really answer that?"

"No," she smiled gently, shaking her head lightly, warmed by the sense of safety and affection she felt from him, as though nothing could touch them. She brought her over hand up to press over his heart, feeling it beating through his firm chest, while she felt Sherlock's right hand move around to press against her lower back, "No, Holmes, you really don't".

….

Amelia sighed slightly as she lightly pressed a ice pack wrapped up in a clean, white and blue checked tea towel over Sherlock's left eye, which had began to bruise by the time they had returned to Baker Street and Sherlock had finished changing into something a little more dry and chlorine free, sadly that also meant that her personal favourite plum coloured shirt that he had worn would need to be sent off to be dry cleaned, replacing it with a light, blue-grey shirt instead. She had insisted that he sit down in his armchair, ignoring his complaints as she settled herself on the armrest and pressed the ice pack over his eye with a glare that warned him of a fight if he was going to be difficult about this. Sherlock, being the wise man that he was, relented with a sigh and conceded to her wishes.

"I don't suppose you could have stepped in a few minutes earlier," Sherlock remarked with an exasperated tone as he remained seated, though Amelia knew he likely would have preferred to be pacing right now, absently toying with the memory stick in his hand as it rested on the arm rest to his right, "Obviously you were there for the fight before I ended up in the pool".

"You're just sour that you didn't notice what I was planning, Sherlock," Amelia said lightly, feeling her own fingers covering the ice pack beginning to chill through the fabric of the dish towel, her legs crossed as she perched on the armrest with ease. She hadn't bothered to change her own clothing yet, though she had sprayed herself with more of her favoured perfume to try and cover up the smell of pool, which tended to bring back unpleasant memories.

"Yes, well done," he glanced at her from out of the corner of his right eye, his lips thinning slightly, "I actually believed you when you agreed to remain here. Once again, it would seem, I underestimated you, Amelia".

She smirked teasingly back at him, "Good," she shrugged lightly then, glancing away from him, "But honestly, Sherlock, if you want a girlfriend who is going to stay home and watch telly, while you go about solving crimes, then perhaps you ought to get another girlfriend".

He watched her from the corner of his eye for a long moment, his features softening with affection and warmth, and his lips twisting into a faint smile, "Sounds terribly dull," he said eventually.

Amelia smiled back at him, feeling her cheeks warming slightly under the look in his gaze, before she cleared her throat and glanced down at the memory stick he was toying with still. Her brief moment of calm and happiness seemed to burst at the sight of it, and she sighed heavily.

"I don't suppose there's any chance that it's just a fake?"

Sherlock's expression instantly grew harder, his dropping onto the device held between his slim, pale fingers with a deep frown, "It's real," he said softly, considering it.

She swallowed, hard, and focused her attention back onto the ice pack and the numbing sensation spreading through her fingertips. She had hoped desperately that he would say it was a fake, a very good fake, but still just a fake, though she had known it was real. The second she had laid eyes upon that memory stick, she knew it was real, there was no trick involved, even if she wished for Mary and John's sake that it was. The man who had tried to get it had been far too desperate to get his hands on the thing, then there was the way he had reacted to the mention of Mary. He didn't just hate Mary, he _despised_ her. She was pulled from her dark thoughts by the living room door opening and Lestrade stepping through, and almost immediately she and Sherlock were focusing on him.

"Well?" Sherlock asked at once, sitting up straighter in his chair. Amelia even lowered the ice pack from his eye, which didn't seem in danger of swelling now, turning to regard Lestrade with sharp eyes.

Lestrade shook his head grimly, his lips pressing into a brief, regretful line as Sherlock and Amelia exchanged a quick look, "He can't have got far," he told them, clearly trying to cheer them up, "We'll have him in a bit".

"You sound so sure, Lestrade," Amelia remarked with a sigh, giving him a faint frown as Sherlock rolled his eyes and reached into his blazer pocket, fishing out his phone. Lestrade lifted an eyebrow at her as she continued grimly, "You really shouldn't be".

"Why?"

Sherlock rose from his armchair, still tapping away on his phone, "Because I think he used to work with Mary," he replied, glancing briefly at Amelia, before turning and walking past Lestrade, disappearing out the door.

Lestrade blinked slowly and looked blankly back to Amelia, but she could only give him a strained smile in return, also standing and moving to grab her tan trench coat that she had left draped over the couch, before moving to follow after Sherlock downstairs as she pulled the coat on. She was really not looking forward to this next bit.

….

The wait for Mary's arrival seemed to take an age to Amelia, but in reality it couldn't have been longer then forty minutes. Amelia positively dreaded what was to come, though she knew it was required, she supposed she was just pleased that she and Sherlock had both agreed to keep John out of the matter until they had more information directly from Mary's lips. They had to detach themselves from the emotional side of this whole mess and involving John right now would not help in that regard, Amelia was already struggling enough as it was to try and view it as any other case, while even Sherlock seemed to be making an effort to keep himself from being overwhelmed by concern. They both liked Mary, after all, but more than that they both loved John, and if something happened to Mary they knew it would hurt John and that was something neither of them could stand to consider. Not even Sherlock Holmes could deny that fact.

Of course, they couldn't risk having this meeting back at Baker Street, not while a highly trained, professional spy and assassin was running around London with a vendetta against Mary. It would be painfully ease for the man to have done just a simple Google search on them and he would discover everything he needed to track them down, and once he had they couldn't take the risk that he wouldn't be watching Baker Street for any sign of Mary paying them a call, even if it was well into the early hours of the morning now and pouring with ran outside. So instead, Sherlock had arranged for the meeting to take place in one of his many boltholes around the city, one that even Amelia had never been to, though she was aware of its location and existence. It was rather fitting, actually, that the meeting should be held in the vault beneath an old church, the floor made up of impacted dirt and the walls the stone foundations of the church above them, while thick tree roots grew and tangled from above the low ceiling and through the walls. The vault itself was rather small, though it had been set up with a ancient, dirty couch that had tattered blankets covering it, obviously designed for one to sleep on, if desperate enough, though Amelia thought that she would rather sleep in one of the hard, plastic chairs that had been set up on the other side of the room, along with a slightly more modern metal framed desk with a lit desk light and an open laptop. The rest of the room was largely darkened, the only other light coming from the few lamps dotted around the room. The air smelt strongly of damp earth and mildew.

Amelia remained seated on one of the plastic chairs, her legs propped up on top of a second chair across from her, her ankles crossed on top of each other as she sagged in the chair. It was slightly uncomfortable, the top of the back of the chair was digging into her upper back and the room itself was quite chilly, forcing her to keep her hands stuffed inside her pockets while they waited, silent and tense. There was nothing either could say right now, Amelia felt too upset to try making conversation, while Sherlock seemed similarly content to remain silent himself as he sat in the shadows a short distance away from her, his face, though obscured by darkness, hard and grave.

The sound of the metal door guarding this little hideaway creaked suddenly, and Amelia closed her eyes tightly, listening as footsteps sounded on the old stone steps, before a figure emerged from the archway at the end of the vault, dressed in a hooded coat that was soaked from the rain, the hood pulled up over the person's head. The figure threw it back, smiling cheerfully as Mary's eyes met Amelia's, holding a lit torch in her hand by her side. Amelia didn't have the heart to return the smile, looking sadly back at Mary, who barely seemed to notice.

"I am an idiot," Sherlock spoke from out of the shadows, as if he couldn't be more dramatic enough as it was, "I know nothing".

Mary smirked, throwing Amelia another grin as she switched her torch off, slipping it back inside her coat pocket, "Well, I've been telling you that for ages," she commented with far more cheer then she really should have right now, it made Amelia feel slightly ill, watching her, "Never mind Amelia, she tells you that at _least_ once a day," she paused briefly, frowning as she looked at Amelia, as though waiting for her to jump in with some sort of playful agreement, but Amelia simply gazed back at her with a miserable expression. Slowly, she shifted on the spot, her frown deepening as it seemed to dawn on her that something serious was wrong, her eyes flickering between the detectives warily, "That was quite some text you sent me, Sherlock," she said slowly, casting him a long look, "What's going on?"

"I was so convinced it was Moriarty," Sherlock sighed, rising from his chair and stepping out into the light, while Amelia uncrossed her ankles and dropped her boots onto the floor, though she made no move to stand, "I couldn't see what was right under my nose," he shook his head as he moved closer to Mary, who was eyeing him in concern now as he avoided meeting her eyes, "Amelia knew differently, of course, she knew the whole time it wasn't Moriarty," he glanced back over to Amelia, who took little pleasure in being right, her expression sullen, "But I didn't listen, I didn't _want_ to believe differently. But we still both expected a pearl…" he reached into his pocket and withdrew the memory stick, holding it between his fingers as he lightly twirled it around, until the lettering scrawled across it was clearly on display for Mary to see.

Mary's face paled and she took a half-step back, looking caught between shock and horror at the sight of the device in his hand, "Oh my God," she gasped, walking quickly over to him, not taking her gaze off the memory stick for a second, "That's a…"

"Yes, it is," Amelia cut in, her hands still stuffed in the pocket of her coat as she rose from her chair, moving to stand beside Sherlock. She looked at Mary as she spoke, however, her voice heavy with regret, "It's the very same memory stick that you gave to John, the one containing all your deepest, darkest secrets…but this one wasn't your memory stick, it belonged to someone else," her eyes grew sharper, more intent as Mary stared transfixed at the device, "Care to enlighten us?"

"I don't know," she shook her head, finally lifting her eyes from the memory stick to glance between Sherlock and Amelia, who watched her closely, "We…we all had one, but the others w…" she began, gesturing towards the device, before shaking her head again, more firmly, "Well, haven't you even looked at it yet?"

"We glanced at it," Sherlock replied, narrowing his eyes on her, "But I'd prefer to hear it from you".

"We both would, actually," Amelia added, curling her hands in the depths of her pockets. She had only taken a brief look through the files that were contained on the memory stick, just enough for her to be satisfied that it was real and not just an elaborate fake, after all, for her own sake, otherwise she feared she might not have fully believed it. But what she had seen had been quite enough, though she knew that Mary was once an assassin and spy, somehow actually seeing the cold, hard proof of what she had once done was difficult to comprehend when she knew the woman that Mary was today. She didn't judge Mary for any of her past actions, mind, she didn't judge her for being practically a gun for hire and the lives she had taken, but she understood now why Mary had been so desperate for John not to see. That was a difficult thing to swallow, for anyone.

"Why?" Mary asked, frowning as her eyes flickered between them.

"Because we'll know the truth when we hear it," Sherlock said without hesitating, eyeing her carefully.

Mary scoffed and turned away from them, "Oh, Sherlock, Amelia…" she sighed, her voice barely a whisper, shaking her head as she walked several paces, before pausing. She turned back around to face them, her expression hard as she met their eyes again, seemingly setting her resolve to tell them the truth, at long last, "There were four of us. Agents".

"Not just agents," he corrected her with a shake of his head, fixing her with a pointed look.

"Polite term," she told them with a look of her own, "Alex, Gabriel, me, and Ajay," she pointed a finger across the room and back at the device clasped in his hand, "There was absolute trust between us," she explained as they listened intently, "The memory sticks guaranteed it. We all had one, each containing aliases, our background, everything. We could never be betrayed because we had everything we needed to destroy the other".

"Mutual shared destruction," Amelia murmured, her eyebrows lifted with interest, and Mary nodded in agreement, her lips pressing into a thin line briefly. Her mouth quirked upwards into a humourless smile, though her gaze remained cool as she gazed back at Mary, "How very Cold War".

"Who employed you?" Sherlock questioned, still watching Mary closely.

"Anyone who paid well," Mary said with a small shrug, and Amelia frowned at her, finding that answer far too vague for her taste. She seemed to notice and sighed, "I mean, we were at the top of our game for years, and then it all ended," she gave a half-shrug then, her eyes growing almost sad, "There was a coup in Georgia. The British embassy in Tbilisi was taken over, lots of hostages. We got the call to go in, get them out. There was a change of plan, a last-minute adjustment".

Amelia frowned deeply again, "Who made the call?" she asked sharply, finding it odd that such a call would have been made while Mary and her team had been out in the middle of the field, surely such a thing was usually already well laid out and planned before sending them in in the first place?

"I don't know. Just another voice on the phone, and a code word, 'Ammo'".

"'Ammo?'" Sherlock repeated with a slight narrowing of his eyes, while Amelia could only shake her head slowly, trying to puzzle it over.

She pulled a slight face, evidently not having a clue herself, "Like 'ammunition,'" She said with another shrug, smiling slightly in bemusement, before continuing as Sherlock and Amelia exchanged a thoughtful look, "We went in, but then something went wrong. Something went really wrong…" her expression grew slightly darker with the memories, "There was a gun fight, I don't know what happened, it was chaos. But one moment I was surrounded by my team, the next it was just me," she took a deep breath, almost as though she was trying to push aside those dark memories to focus back on the present, "That was six years ago. Feels like forever," her tone grew softer, "I was the only one who made it out".

"You're wrong," Amelia told her without blinking, far more bluntly then she perhaps meant to.

Mary instantly frowned, eyeing Amelia in confusion, "What?"

Sherlock turned to step across to the desk he had set up off to the side of them, where his laptop was sitting open, reaching out to pick it up with one hand, "We met someone tonight," he said as he lifted the computer on an angle to insert the memory stick into one of the side ports, while carrying the computer across to another desk, "The same someone who's looking for the sixth Thatcher".

Amelia watched Mary closely, while Sherlock placed the laptop down on the desk and quickly brought up the old surveillance pictures and a fake ID of the same man who had attacked them tonight, photos that had been stored on the drive under the name 'Ajay'. It had been an interesting little find for the detectives, who had immediately recognised the man, though the pictures didn't carry the same scars as the man alive today did. The brunet observed Mary as she slowly approached the laptop, stepping around to get a closer look of the screen, and her eyes widened in shock and delight as she quickly bent closer to the laptop, staring at the pictures with something close to affection.

"Oh my God," she breathed, disbelief filling her voice, "That's Ajay. What, he's alive?" her head whipped back around to look at Sherlock and Amelia, hope filling her features.

"Yeah, very much so," Sherlock scowled very slightly, reaching up to lightly brush his fingertips over the bruise under his left eye…he supposed he had to thank Amelia for her insistence on icing it before he ended up with a swollen eye, though it seemed rather dangerous to give her to much credit. She would only grin and bat her eyelashes as him with an infuriating, though oddly attractive knowing look of hers.

"He hasn't let himself go, either," Amelia commented with a very slight upturn to her lips, her lipstick almost completely gone by now as she shot Sherlock a small smirk, "He certainly gave Sherlock a decent go around".

Sherlock gave her a dark look at that, lowering his hand from his cheek, but she simply smiled wider and winked, as though knowing exactly what he had just been thinking.

"I don't believe this!" Mary barely seemed to be listening to them, however, peering in delighted surprise at the computer screen, her voice slightly breathless with wonder, "This is amazing! I thought I was the only one. I thought I was the only one who got out," she quickly turned back towards the detectives, straightening as she looked almost frantically between them, "Where is he? I need to see him _now_!"

"Mary,_ please_ just take a breath for a second," Amelia urged her gently, slipping a hand from her coat pocket to hold it up in a calming gesture, regarding Mary's desperate, wide eyes with a very grave expression, "Now, before you go dashing off to try tracking him down yourself, there's a few things you need to know, and some questions that you still need to answer for _us_," she gestured between herself and Sherlock as she spoke, while Mary's urgency faulted slightly, frowning as Amelia looked at her intently, "Firstly, before you gave John _your _memory stick, are you positive it was safe? No one else could have gained access to it?"

"Yeah, of course it was safe," she said at once, giving her a deep frown, "It was our insurance. Above all, they mustn't fall into enemy hands".

Sherlock nodded slowly, "So Ajay survived as well," he said with surprising gentleness, trying to break the news to Mary as carefully as possible, as he and Amelia had agreed. But they had both hoped that Mary might be able to figure it out for herself, with enough of the pieces of the puzzle, "And now he's looking for the memory stick he managed to hide with all AGRA's old aliases on it. But why?" he gave her a very steady, pointed look.

"I don't know!"

"Six years is a _very_ long time, Mary," Amelia remarked, her voice soft as she regarded the other woman with gentle, kind eyes. She even reached out to place a hand comfortingly on Mary's arm, ignoring the raindrops still soaking the waterproof fabric, "Just…think about it, just for a moment…Where has he been all these years? Why not reach out to you if he had survived? Why not at least try to track you down _before_ now?"

Mary stared back at her for a long moment; a hopeless sort of expression flickering past her features as her shoulders slumped, curving in on herself. Amelia could see that she understood what they were trying to say, she could see it in the way that she was looking back at her with a desperate, almost plea in her gaze, practically pleading with them to tell her that it was all just a big mistake, after all. But there was still a part of her that didn't want to believe it as she slowly dropped her eyes to the ground and shook her head lightly. Amelia sighed heavily and glanced at Sherlock, biting her bottom lip anxiously. How were you supposed to tell someone that someone they once trusted with their life, now wanted to kill you?

Sherlock met her eyes and drew in a slow, deep breath before focusing his attention back onto Mary, "Mary," he began, and though his voice was firm, it still carried a note of gentleness to it that he ordinarily wouldn't have showed to anyone outside of their tight-knit circle. Mary lifted her gaze up to meet his again, though almost reluctantly, "I'm sorry to tell you this, but he wants you dead".

She laughed in disbelief, shaking her head as she looked between them as though they had lost their minds, "Sorry, no, no…" she continued laughing, smiling widely as she glanced back towards the photo of Ajay on the laptop screen, "'Cause we…we were family".

"Not every family is a happy one," Amelia pointed out quietly, giving her a sympathetic look. She couldn't even begin to imagine how hard this must be for Mary, how awful it must have to be to hear the happiness that an old and trust friend had survived when you had believed them to have died years ago, only to then learn that they were trying to kill you. At least with her own family, she had always known that James would eventually try to kill her, it kind of took some of the sting out of it. She squeezed Mary's arm through the thick, wet fabric of her coat, "Why else would Ajay be after the memory stick, Mary? He knows it has everything he needs on it to track you down, and he also knows that you're the only one who got out alive. He's literally killed to try and get it, and now he's coming for _you_".

Mary looked back across to the computer, frowning slightly, "Well, he's just trying to find me," she shook her head, her tone growing defensive as she looked sharply back up to Amelia and Sherlock, "He survived. That's all that matters!"

"We heard it from his own mouth," Sherlock told her very seriously, his tone firm and certain, "'Tell her she's a dead woman walking'".

She swallowed, hard, her eyes flickering cautiously between them as, for the first time, she truly seemed to be starting to believe them in her heart, "Why would he want to kill me?" she asked, her voice growing softer and her forehead creasing with open concern.

"It's…hard to know for sure yet," Amelia said slowly, eyeing her closely as she shifted slightly uncomfortably. She licked her lips and sighed heavily, "But he did say that you betrayed him, Mary…"

"Oh, no, no, no, that's insane," she shook her head firmly, cutting across Amelia, confusion and disgust filling her features at the mere thought of having betrayed her old friend. She turned away from them to look back at the computer.

"That may be so," she nodded, still eyeing her carefully, "But it's what_ he_ believes. Besides, we don't know what have happened to him during those missing six years," she pointed out, and Mary immediately looked at her sharply, picking up the implication in her words that Ajay might have been held and tortured. She grimaced, giving Mary an apologetic look as nausea crossed her features briefly, "Anything could have happened to him, Mary, but I think it's safe to say that the man you once considered family is much changed".

Mary closed her eyes briefly, before opening them again and moving to practically collapse into a plastic chair sitting askew from the desk before the laptop. For a long moment she simply stared at the screen with a distant, pained expression, and Amelia and Sherlock let her, remaining silent as they watched her struggle to come to terms with everything they had told her. Amelia wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug her, but she knew that right now Mary needed space to try and come to grips with everything, to just breathe, but it was hard to watch someone you cared for, even loved, struggle like this without trying to console them the few ways that she knew she could.

"I suppose I was always afraid this might happen," Mary admitted after a long stretch of silence, hunching over slightly, bracing herself with her hands on her knees and her head bowed, "That something in my past would come back to haunt me one day".

Sherlock pulled a slight face and glanced at Amelia, absently reaching up to touch his left side of his lower ribcage, "Yes, well he's a very _tangible_ ghost," he muttered with a small, pained grimace of his lips as he shifted slightly, no doubt starting to feel quite bruised, though he was hiding it well.

Amelia shook her head lightly and gave her a look…she had tried to get him to let her ice his ribs for him, while he had been changing, but he had only reluctantly conceded to letting her tend to his eye after pointing out how inconvenient trying to solve a case with only partial vision would be.

"God," Mary breathed, closing her eyes tightly, paying them little mind, "I just wanted a bit of peace, and I really thought I had it".

"Oh, Mary," Amelia looked back across to her with a sad look, pushing back the urge to cry as she looked at Mary's slumped, desperate form. It really did just break her heart to see Mary like this, no matter what her past actions might have been, she and John truly had built something special together, and she could barely stand to see it practically crumbling before their eyes like this. But she reassured herself with the fact that it would only be temporary, they would fix this and then everything would be okay, their lives back to how they were before.

Sherlock frowned deeply at her, too, "No," he said firmly, moving to stand by her chair and reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder, "Mary, you _do_," he tried to console her, his voice softening as he peered down at her gently, "I made a vow, remember?" he reminded her, making her open her eyes and look up to met his gaze, "To look after the three of you".

"Sherlock, we all knew you could never keep that vow," Mary gave him a half-hearted smile, her eyes full of sadness, though she seemed to be trying hard to not completely break down, as Amelia suspected she probably wanted to right now. She glanced across to Amelia and gave her that same little smile, and then back across to Sherlock, who was eyeing her with an almost wary look now, much to Amelia's interest, "You can't vow to never make another vow again when you're in love with someone".

"That's…not what I was referring to," he replied with an oddly thrown expression, though he kept his eyes firmly on Mary. Amelia lifted an eyebrow and eyed the side of his face curiously, but he was being oddly careful not to so much as glance at her, "And while that might have been…premature of me to make that sort of statement, I still stand by the sentiment of my promise to always be there for the three of you and I will honour it, Mary".

Amelia couldn't help feeling as though she was missing something, and perhaps if she wasn't already so focused on helping Mary and John, and tired from the day's events, then she might have been able to try and figure out just from their exchange what it was they seemed to be speaking of, but not actually saying. There was an underlying tension in Sherlock's voice when he had been speaking at first, not to mention how odd it was that he seemed intent on not glancing at Amelia, and then there was Mary's tiny little smile. However, right now she couldn't for the life of her find the energy to try to puzzle over it, that would be an issue for another day, but right now she had more important matters to deal with. She looked back to Mary, who was watching Sherlock with a gentle, fond expression.

"We both will honour it, Mary," she told her firmly, meeting her eyes determinedly as Mary glanced over to her again, "You, John, and Rosie are family, my family. I won't allow anything to ever happen to any of you," she finished strongly, lifting her chin higher, her resolved set on the matter. John was like the brother she had always hoped James might have been, and therefore those that he loved had also become precious to her.

Mary looked between them with another half-smile, "Sherlock the dragon slayer," she remarked fondly, "And Amelia the fairy godmother".

Sherlock's gaze flickered over to Amelia briefly, his eyebrow lifted as he seemed to consider the idea of Amelia being likened to a fairy godmother, while Amelia smiled widely. He didn't seem to find anything to disagree with, in fact his mouth actually twitched into a slight smile as he regarded her, before turning his attention back to Mary. His smile melted away and his expression grew serious again.

"Stay close to us and we will keep you safe from him," he said firmly, meeting her eyes steadily, "I promise you".

Mary stared up at him for a long, silent moment, seeming thoughtful as she considered his assurances. She stood after a moment, dropping his gaze, "There's something I think you should read," she informed them suddenly, instantly causing Amelia to frown in confusion, watching as she slipped a folded piece of white paper from her pocket, holding it out towards the detectives.

"What is it?" he questioned, eyeing the paper as he reached out to take it.

"I hoped I wouldn't have to do this," she sighed, passing him the letter into his bare hand, before withdrawing her hand, slipping it back inside her coat pocket. Amelia's frown deepened, watching as something flickered past her features, something close to…regret.

Sherlock didn't seem to notice, busy already unfolding the paper, but he suddenly seemed to freeze the moment he opened it completely. Amelia, standing close beside him, drew in a small breath and blinked slightly, feeling oddly light headed for a second, before she gave herself a sharp shake. Her eyes snapped up to Mary in realisation, her eyes widening.

"What are you…?" he began in confusion, finding that the letter had nothing written on it.

"Sherlock…" Amelia began, only to pause and have to shake her head again, feeling another wave of dizziness wash over her. She actually reached out to grasp the top of the chair that Mary had just stood from, turning an accusing, slightly blurry eyes back onto Mary, who watched on with open regret now.

And then Sherlock did something that was incredibly stupid…he lifted the paper up to his nose and sniffed deeply, before Amelia could even try to warn him against it, her eyes widening in shock that he would actually be foolish enough to sniff the thing when there was clearly something being secreted off the paper, some sort of floral based chemical solution that had seemingly began to waft into the air the second he had opened the paper, effecting them both easily, already. Whatever it was, it was very obviously potent stuff. Almost immediately, Sherlock blinked rapidly and lowered the paper, staggering backwards unsteadily.

"Mary…" he mumbled, grimacing as he wobbled on his own feet, just as Mary hurried to his side and helped ease him back down onto another chair behind him, which he collapsed into heavily.

"There you go," Mary said soothingly, stopping him from slipping sideways off the chair.

"Mary, what have you done?" Amelia shook her head again, squeezing her eyes shut as everything seemed to blur slightly around the edges, making her feel slightly sickly. She gripped the back of the chair more tightly, but she only seemed to be suffering from a mild exposure of the drug, enough to throw her off balance and make her feel sluggish, but not enough to knock her like it had Sherlock.

"It's all right," she reassured them, still trying to prevent Sherlock, who looked barely conscious now, from slipping off the chair. She threw Amelia an apologetic look over her shoulder, her lips pressing into a hard line, "I'm sorry, Amelia, really I am, but it's for the best, believe me".

"No," Sherlock managed to slur out, fighting desperately to stay awake, but he was losing the battle. He swayed dangerously back on the chair, slumped sideways and low against the back of it, his head lolling slightly back.

Amelia pushed herself away from the chair and tried to move towards him, but Mary easily stepped in her path, grabbing her around the waist, just before Amelia almost collapsed. She tried to push away from the other woman, but she felt as though her body was being sapped of energy, but she wanted, needed, to try and do something.

"I really am sorry," Mary was saying grimly, guiding her back over towards the chair that she had been balancing against, barely needing to put any effort into lightly pushing Amelia down onto it, though Amelia did try to put up some fight. Mary easily grasped her wrists, wrapping her fingers around them as she peered into her eyes, "Please, don't make this any harder than it needs to be, Amelia," she urged her, almost pleadingly as she risked letting go of Amelia's left wrist to slip a neatly folded, white cloth from her pocket, "I don't want to accidently hurt you".

"Don't do this," she tried, ignoring her pleas and reaching up to grab Mary's coat lapel, though her fingers felt numb and clumsy. She looked blurrily into Mary's slightly distorted features, "Mary, we can help you, we'll always help you. Just…just think of John and Rosie…"

"I am," she cut across her, her face twisting with something close to pain at the mention of her family, before it was gone, "And I know that you'll look after them for me, you and Sherlock, until I come back," she gave a sad smile, meeting Amelia's unfocused gaze, "I couldn't think of anyone better".

"Mary…"

"I'm sorry, Amelia," she said, right before placing the piece of cloth over her mouth and nose, holding it in place, even when Amelia desperately tried grabbing at her wrists and hands.

Given the fact that she had already been partly exposed to the substance, Amelia almost instantly began to feel herself floating away, darkness slowly creeping into her vision and what little fight that she did have left quickly died, her arms falling clumsily to her sides and her eyes slipped closed as Mary removed the cloth from her face. She felt something gently touch the side of her head, something that might have been an affectionate gesture, before everything just…faded away.

_**So, bit of a long update, but oddly enough this season, story wise, seems to be going to be longer than previously. I mean, usually it takes six chapters to get through an episode, but this seems like it might take closer to seven, if not even eight. Just a curious observation I've made. Anyway, so I decided it was about time that we have Amelia saving Sherlock, in a way, plus we got to see a little protective Sherlock and Amelia in this chapter, which was rather fun to write. We haven't seen that for a while now. As always, Amelia's outfit will be on my Tumblr and Pinterest. **_

_**Next chapter, we get a glimpse of Amelia's past, have we finally found out exactly what Mycroft does all day in that basement office? And the chase is on for Mary Watson. I hope you guys liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_

_**Guest Reviews:**_

_**Izzy: **__**Yes, that is rather amusing. It took me a few minutes for it to hit me where I had seen him from before, then it hit me that it was from Sherlock. I love how England loves using the same actors and actresses.**_

_**Guest (1): **__**I'm delighted you like Amelia, and I understand completely why you can't imagine Sherlock being involved in a romance. Honestly I'm kind of the same, I don't think it would actually work on the show or in the books, but that's why we have Fanfiction. I mean, I love the idea of Molly and Sherlock, but do I actually think it would work? No, not really, it's a little bit like how I wouldn't wish for the Doctor from Doctor Who to ever have a proper romance or why I wasn't a big fan of the whole River Song storyline, it just felt…off, to me. There are certain characters who really shouldn't have love interests, I think, but it can be a little guilty pleasure to imagine if they did.**_

_**Guest (2): **__**I didn't mind this season, personally, though I know that a lot of people really hated it. I think the first episode of the season was actually my favourite, out of this season, and I have no idea why. I enjoyed how they explored how Sherlock's actions impacted his friendship with John and how they showed grief in the second episode, but the third and last episode, while enjoyable, I could certainly see why it didn't mesh well with people. The whole secret sister thing was a little cliché, but I'll admit she did make for a rather creepy character and I quite enjoyed seeing more of Sherlock's 'human' side come out throughout that episode, and learning more about the Holmes brothers past. But I really do desperately hope they'll have another season, and I think they will, to be honest, but I think it will be a long while to come yet. Like we're not used to having to wait for another season of Sherlock, anyway.**_


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